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Two  Pilgrims'  Progress 

FROM  FAIR  FLORENCE  TO  THE 
ETERNAL  CITY  OF  ROME 


BY 


JOSEPH  AND  ELIZABETH    ROBINS    PENNELL 

AUTHORS    OF 

"^    CANTERBURY  PILGRIMAGE;'   ETC. 


WITH    PEN   DRAWINGS   BY   JOSEPH    PENNELL 


I^Teto  lEtiition 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1899 


3DG4  2<^ 


Copyright,  1SS6, 
By  Robekts  Brothers 

Copyright,  1899, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company 


j4  II  rights  reserved 


©nitersit?  \}xi%% 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


A  FRIEND'S  Apology 

For  this  Booke, 

By  CHARLES  G.   LELAND. 

Loe!  what  is  this  which  Ime  to  sett  before  ye  1 

It  is,  I  ween,  a  very  pleasant  Story, 

How  two  young  Pilgrimes  who  the  World  would  see, 

Did  Wheele  themselves  all  over  Italy. 

One  meant  to  write  on  '/,  whence  it  may  be  said 

That  for  the  Nonce  hers  was  the  Wheelwright's  trade  ; 

Which  is  a  clever  Crafte,  for  yee  have  heard 

What  flits  about  as  a  familiar  Word 

Which  in  a  Workshopp  often  meets  the  Eare, 

'^  Bad  Wheelwright  maketh  a  good  Carpentered 

If  of  a  bad  one  such  a  Saying 's  true. 

Oh  what,  I  pray,  may  not  a  good  one  do  ? 

For  by  Experience  I  do  declare 

'  Tis  easier  to  make  Books  than  build  a  Chaire. 

Experto  crede  —  I  have  tried  them  Both, 

And  swear e  a  Book  is  easier  —  on  77iy  Oathe  I 

He  who  with  her  a  Pilgriming  did  go,  — 

That  ivas  her  Husband.     As  this  Book  doth  show, 


845855 


A    Frie7id's   Apology, 

Rar^  skill  he  hdd  when  he  would  Sketches  take. 
And  from'  those  Sketches  prittie  Pictures  make. 
She  with  the  Pen  could  well  illuminate, 
He  with  the  Pencil  Nature  illustrate. 
Oh,  is  7  not  strange  that  what  they  did  so  well 
In  the  Pen  way  meets  in  the  Name  Pen-fiell  ? 
By  which  the  Proverb  doth  approved  appear e, 
Nomen  est  Omen, — as  is  plain  and  deer e. 
Which  means  to  say  that  every  Soule  doth  Bear 
A  Name  well  suited  to  his  charactere. 

Now,  when  this  Couple  unto  Mee  did  co7?ie, 
And  askt  me  iff  I'de  write  a  little  Pome, 
That  Tale  and  Picture  as  they  routed  along 
Might  have  some  small  Accompaniment  of  Song, 
I  set  my  Pefi  to  Paper  with  Delighte, 
And  quickly  had  my  Thoughts  in  Black  and  White. 
Even  as  John  Bunyan  said  he  did  of  yore, 
So  /,  because  I  ^d  done  the  like  before. 
Since  I  was  the  first  man  of  modern  ti?ne 
Who  on  the  bycicle  e'er  wrote  a  Rime, 
How  I  a  Lady  in  a  Vision  saw 
Upon  a  Wheel  like  that  of  Budda's  Law, 
Which  kept  the  Path  and  went  exceeding  fast ; 
Loe  !  now  my  Vision  is  fulfilled  at  last. 
In  this  brave  writer  who  with  ready  Hand 
Hath  guided  well  the  Wheel  ore  many  a  Land. 
Sho7ving  the  World  by  her  adventurous  Course 
How  one  may  travel  fast  as  any  Horse, 


A    Friend's   Apology. 

Without  a  Steed,  and  stop  where'er  ye  will, 
And  have  for  oats  or  stable  ne7'e  a  Bill. 

Now,  for  the  Book  I  somethi?tg  have  to  say 
(Fray  inark  Mee  well,  good  Reader,  while  you  may^. 
They  say  that  in  the  Publick  some  there  bee 
Who  'II  take  it  ill  'cause  it  doth  Parody 
John  Bunyan's  Progress.     That  can  ne'er  be  said 
By  any  who  John  Bunyan's  Booke  have  read, 
Since  he  himself  protests  against  the  Whim 
Of  those  who  said  the  selfsame  thing  of  him, 
And  thought  he  lightly  treated  solemn  Things. 
List  the  Defence  which  to  this  Charge  he  brifigs : 
"  This  Book  will  make  a  Traveler  of  Thee, 
"  If  by  its  Coimcill  thou  wilt  guided  be. 
"  And  it  is  writ  in  such  a  Dialect 
"  As  may  the  Minds  of  listless  Men  affect. 
"  //  seems  a  Novelty,  and  yet  contains 
"  Nothing  but  sound  and  hottest  Gospel  Strains'.' 

Now  I  can  make  no  more  Apologie 

Than  Hottest  John  did  make  for  himself  d'  ye  see; 

As  for  the  Best —  if  you  but  cast  your  Eye 

Upon  the  Pictures  ere  the  Booke  ye  buy, 

And  if  of  Art  you  are  a  clever  Judge, 

The  Price  for  it  you  '//  stirely  not  begrudge. 

Now,  Reader,  I  have  praysed  this  Booke  to  Thee, 

I  trust  that  Thou  wilt  scan  Bt  carefullie  ; 

^ Twill  set  before  thee  Portraiture  of  Toivnes, 


A    Friend's    Apology. 

Castles  afid  Towres,  antient  Villes  and  Downs, 
How  rowling  Rivers  to  y  Oeean  hast. 
Of  Roadside  Inns  and  many  a  f  aire  Palast, 
Served  «/,  I  ween,  with  so  much  gentle  Mirthe, 
Thoulte  fairly  own  thou  'st  gott  thy  Money's  Worth. 
If  thou  art  Cheated  Mi?ie  shall  bee  the  Sinn,  — 
Turn  o'er  the  Page,  my  Lady,  and  Begin  I 


Loe  I  Vanity  Faire  !  —  the  Worlde  is  there, 

Hee  and  his  Wife  beside. 
Ye  may  see  it  afoot,  or  from  the  Traine, 

Or  if  on  a  Wheel  you  ride. 


To 
CHARLES    GODFREY  LELAND, 

Who   is   responsible  for  our  First   Work  Together^ 

Who  has  been  the  Great-Heart  of  many  a  Pilgrimage  taken 
in  his  Co7npany^ 

We  dedicate  this  Book. 


PREFACE 


SECOND   AMERICAN    EDITION. 


Save  that  thousands  of  bicyclers  now  travel  the 
roads,  some  of  which  we  were  the  first  to  ride  a 
tricycle  over,  the  pleasures  of  cycling  in  Italy  are 
as  great  as  ever,  and  the  road  we  followed   is  still 

one  of  the  best. 

Joseph  Pennell. 
Elizabeth  Robins  Pennell. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Start ii 

In  the  Val  d'Arno 14 

At  Empoli 22 

The  Road  to  Fair  and  Soft  Siena 25 

At  Poggibonsi 34 

In  the  Mountains 36 

Fair  and  Soft  Siena 45 

An  Italian  By-Road 61 

Monte  Oliveto 81 

Through  the  Wilderness  to  a  Garden     ....  94 

We  are  detained  in  Montepulciano loi 

In  the  Val  di  Chiana 109 

LUCA    SiGNORELLl's    ToWN Il8 

To  Perugia  :   by  Train  and  Tricycle      .     .     .     .     .122 

At  Perugia ^ 128 

Across  the  Tiber  to  Assisi 134 

At  Assisi 138 

Virgil's  Country 142 


8  Contents. 


PAGE 


Terni  and  its  Falls 155 

In  the  L.A.ND  OF  Brigands 157 

A  Middling  Inn 164 

Across  the  Campagna 166 

The  Finish 173 


Appendix ^75 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Over  the  Ponte  Vecchio 14 

In  the  Sunlight 18 

Lastra 20 

A  Perugino  Landscape 24 

On  the  Arno  —  near  Empoli 36 

A  Slight  Obstruction 40 

Noontime 42 

By  the  River 50 

Chiusure 6S 

Monte  Oliveto 84 

At  the  Foot  of  the  Cross 96 

Leaving  Montepulciano 106 

CORTONA 118 

On  the  Hill 126 

The  Bronze  Pontiff's  Benediction,  Perugia  .     .     .  134 

A  Frown  of  Disapproval,  Assisi 136 

Gathering  Leaves 146 

"  Piping  down  the  Valley  " 160 

From  Via  Flaminia,  near  Ponte  Molle    ....  170 

"  ASPETTO  1  " 172 


TWO    PILGRIMS'    PROGRESS. 


THE    START. 

"  They  are  a  couple  of  far-country 
men,  and,  after  their  mode,  are  going 
on  Pilgrimaged 

"1 T  7E  stayed  in  Florence  three  days  before 
^  ^  we  started  on  our  pilgrimage  to  Rome. 
We  needed  a  short  rest.  The  railway  journey 
straight  through  from  London  had  been  un- 
usually tiresome  because  of  our  tricycle.  From 
the  first  mention  of  our  proposed  pilgrimage, 
kind  friends  in  England  had  warned  us  that  on 
the  way  to  Italy  the  machine  would  be  a  bur- 
den worse  than  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea ;  por- 
ters, guards,  and  custom-house  officials  would 
look  upon  it  as  lawful  prey,  and  we  should  pay 
more  to  get  it  to  Italy  than  it  had  cost  in  the 
beginning.  It  is  wonderful  how  clever  one's 
friends  are  to  discover  the  disagreeable,  and 
then  how  eager  to  point  it  out ! 


12  Two  Pilgrims'  Progress. 

Our  first  experience  at  the  station  at  Hol- 
born  Viaduct  seemed  to  confirm  their  warn- 
ings. We  paid  eight  shiUings  to  have  the 
tricycle'  oaVried  to  Dover,  porters  amiably  re- 
marking /it  .v^buld  take  a  pile  of  money  to  get 
such  a  machine  to  Italy.  Crossing  the  Chan- 
nel, we  paid  five-and-sixpence  more,  and  the 
sailors  told  us  condolingly  we  should  have  an 
awfijl  time  of  it  in  the  custom-house  at  Calais. 
This,  however,  turned  out  a  genuine  seaman's 
yarn.  The  tricycle  was  examined  carefully, 
but  to  be  admired,  not  valued.  "  That 's  well 
made,  that ! "  one  guard  declared  with  apprecia- 
tion, and  others  playfully  urged  him  to  mount 
it.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  our  friends 
proved  false  prophets.  From  Calais  to  Flor- 
ence we  paid  only  nine  francs  freight  and 
thirty-five  francs  duty  at  Chiasso.  But  unfor- 
tunately we  never  knew  what  might  be  about 
to  happen.  We  escaped  in  one  place  only  to 
be  sure  the  worst  would  befall  us  in  the  next. 
It  was  not  until  the  cause  of  our  anxiety  was 
safe  in  Florence  that  our  mental  burden  was 
taken  away. 

But  here  were  more  friends  who  called   our 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  13 

pilgrimage  a  desperate  journey,  and  asked  if 
we  had  considered  what  we  might  meet  with 
in  the  way  we  were  going.  There  was  the 
cholera.  But  we  represented  that  to  get  to 
Rome  we  should  not  go  near  the  stricken 
provinces.  Then  they  persisted  that  our  road 
lay  through  valleys  reeking  with  malaria  until 
November  at  least.  We  should  not  reach 
these  valleys  before  November,  was  our  reply. 
Well,  then,  did  we  know  we  must  pass  through 
lonely  districts  where  escaped  convicts  roamed 
abroad ;  and  in  and  out  of  villages  where  fleas 
were  like  unto  a  plague  of  Egypt,  and  good 
food  as  scarce  as  in  the  wilderness.^  In  a  word, 
ours  was  a  fool's  errand.  Perhaps  it  was  be- 
cause so  little  had  come  of  the  earlier  prophe- 
cies that  we  gave  slight  heed  to  these.  They 
certainly  made  no  difference  in  our  plans.  On 
October  16,  the  third  morning  after  our  arri- 
val, we  rode  forth  sans  flea-powder  or  brandy, 
sans  quinine  or  beef-extract,  sans  everything 
our  friends  counselled  us  to  take,  —  and  hence, 
according  to  them,  right  into  the  jaws  of 
death. 


IN    THE   VAL    D'ARNO. 

"  Now  their  way  lay  just  upon  the 
bank  of  the  river j  here,  therefore, 
Christian  ajidhis  companion  walked 
with  great  delight.'''' 

npHE  padrone  who  helped  to  strap  our 
-*■  portfolio  and  two  bags  to  the  luggage- 
carrier,  our  coats  to  the  handle-bars,  and  the 
knapsack  to  J.'s  back,  and  Mr.  Mead,  the  one 
friend  who  foretold  pleasure,  stood  at  the  door 
of  the  Hotel  Minerva  to  see  us  off.  The 
sunlight  streamed  over  the  Piazza  of  Santa 
Maria  Novella  and  the  beggars  on  the  church- 
steps  and  the  cabmen  who  good-naturedly 
cried  "  No  carriage  for  you,"  as  we  wheeled 
slowly  on,  over  to  the  Via  Tornabuoni, 
past  Doni's,  by  Viesseux's,  up  the  Lung' 
Arno  to  the  crowded  Ponte  Vecchio  where  for 
this  once  at  least  we  were  not  attacked  by 
the  little  shopmen,  by  the  Via  de'  Bardi,  then 


Over  the  Ponte  Vecchio. 

Page  14. 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  15 

back  through  the  Borgo  San  Jacopo,  again 
along  the  Lung'  Arno,  and  then  around  with 
the  twisting  street-car  tracks,  through  the  Porta 
San  Frediano,  and  out  on  the  broad  white 
road  which  leads  to  Pisa. 

But  even  before  we  left  Florence  we  met 
with  our  first  accident.  The  luggage-carrier 
swung  around  from  the  middle  to  the  side 
of  the  backbone.  The  one  evil  consequence, 
however,  was  a  half-hour's  delay.  Beyond 
the  gate  we  stopped  at  the  first  blacksmith's. 
Had  either  of  us  known  the  Italian  word  for 
"wire,"  the  delay  might  have  been  shorter.  It 
was  only  by  elaborate  pantomime  we  could 
make  our  meaning  clear.  Then  the  black- 
smith took  the  matter  in  his  own  hands,  un- 
strapped the  bags,  and  went  to  work  with 
screw-driver  and  wire,  while  the  entire  neigh- 
borhood, backed  by  passing  pedlers  and  street- 
car drivers  and  citizens,  pronounced  the  tricycle 
"  beautiful !  "  "a  new  horse  !  "  "a  tramway !  " 
When  the  luggage-carrier  was  fastened  securely 
and  loaded  again,  the  blacksmith  was  so  proud 
of  his  success  that  he  declared  "  nothing  "  was 
his  charge.      But  he  was  easily  persuaded  to 


1 6  Two  Pilgrims    Progress, 

take  something  to  drink  the  Signores  health. 
After  this  there  were  no  further  stops. 

Our  road  for  some  distance  went  over  streets 
laid  with  the  great  stones  of  the  old  Tuscan 
pavement,  —  and  for  tricyclers  these  streets  are 
not  very  bad  going,  —  between  tall  gray  houses, 
with  shrines  built  in  them,  and  those  high  walls 
which  radiate  from  Florence  in  every  direction, 
and  keep  one  from  seeing  the  gardens  and 
green  places  within.  Women  plaiting  straw, 
great  yellow  bunches  of  which  hung  at  their 
waists,  and  children  greeted  us  with  shouts. 
Shirtless  bakers,  their  hands  white  with  flour, 
and  barbers  holding  their  razors,  men  with 
faces  half  shaved  and  still  lathered,  and  others 
with  wine-glasses  to  their  lips,  rushed  to  look 
at  this  new  folly  of  the  foreigner,  —  for  ours 
was  the  first  tandem  tricycle  ever  seen  in  Italy. 
At  Signa,  on  the  steep  up-grade  just  outside 
the  town,  we  had  a  lively  spurt  with  a  dummy 
engine,  the  engineer  apparently  trying  to  run 
us  down  as  we  were  about  to  cross  the  track. 
After  this  we  rode  between  olives  and  vine- 
yards where  there  were  fewer  people.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  so  blue  overhead 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  17 

and  so  white  above  the  far  hill-tops  on  the 
horizon.  The  wind  in  the  trees  rustled  gently 
in  friendliness.  Solemn,  white-faced,  broad- 
horned  oxen  stared  at  us  sympathetically  over 
the  hedges.  One  young  peasant  even  stopped 
his  cart  to  say  how  beautiful  he  thought  it 
must  be  to  travel  in  Italy  after  our  fashion. 
All  day  we  passed  gray  olive-gardens  and 
green  terraced  hillsides,  narrow  Tuscan-walled 
streams  dry  at  this  season,  and  long  rows  of 
slim  straight  poplars,  —  "white  trees,"  a  woman 
told  us  was  their  name.  Every  here  and  there 
was  a  shrine  with  lamp  burning  before  the 
Madonna,  or  a  wayside  cross  bearing  spear 
and  scourge  and  crown  of  thorns.  Now  we 
rode  by  the  fair  river  of  Arno,  where  reeds 
grew  tall  and  close  by  the  water's  edge,  and 
where  the  gray-green  mountains  rising  almost 
from  its  banks  were  barren  of  all  trees  save 
dark  stone-pines  and  towering  cypresses,  like 
so  many  mountains  in  Raphael's  or  Perugino's 
pictures.  Now  we  came  to  where  the  plain 
broadened  and  the  mountains  were  blue  and 
distant.  Mulberries  the  peasants  had  stripped 
of  their  leaves  before  their  time,  but  not  bare 


1 8  Two  Pilgrims    Progress, 

because  of  the  vines  festooned  about  them, 
broke  with  their  even  ranks  the  monotony  of 
gray  and  brown  ploughed  fields.  Here  on  a 
hill  was  a  white  villa  or  monastery,  with  long, 
lofty  avenue  of  cypresses ;  there,  the  stanch 
unshaken  walls  and  gates  of  castle  or  fortress, 
which,  however,  had  long  since  disappeared. 
It  is  true,  all  these  things  are  to  be  seen  hastily 
from  the  windows  of  the  railway  train ;  but  it 
is  only  by  following  the  windings  and  straight 
ways  of  the  road  as  we  did  that  its  beauty  can 
be  worthily  realized. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  with  a  turn  of  the 
road,  we  came  suddenly  in  view  of  Capraia, 
high  up  above,  and  far  to  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  —  so  far,  indeed,  that  all  detail  was  lost, 
and  we  could  only  see  the  outline  of  its  houses 
and  towers  and  campanile  washed  into  the 
whitish-blue  sky.  And  all  the  time  we  were 
working  just  hard  enough  to  feel  that  joy  of 
mere  living  which  comes  with  healthy  out-of- 
door  exercise,  and,  I  think,  with  nothing  else. 
Sometimes  we  rode  seeing  no  one,  and  hear- 
ing no  other  sound  than  the  low  cries  of  a 
cricket  in  the  hedge  and  the  loud  calls  of  an 


-f 


In  the  Sunlight. 

Fajre  18. 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  ,    19 

unseen  ploughman  in  a  neighboring  field; 
then  an  old  woman  went  by,  complimenting 
us  on  going  so  fast  without  a  horse  ;  and  then 
a  baker's  boy  in  white  shirt  and  bare  legs,  car- 
rying a  lamb  on  his  shoulders.  But  then, 
again,  we  met  wagon  after  wagon,  piled  with 
boxes  and  baskets,  poultry  and  vegetables,  and 
sleeping  men  and  women,  and  with  lanterns 
swinging  between  the  wheels, — for  the  next 
day  would  be  Friday  and  market-day,  and 
peasants  were  already  on  their  way  to  Flor- 
ence. There  were  pedlers,  too,  walking  from 
village  to  village,  selling  straw  fans  and  gor- 
geous handkerchiefs.  Would  not  the  Signora 
have  a  handkerchief  ?  one  asked,  showing  me 
the  gayest  of  his  stock.  For  answer  I  pointed 
to  the  bags  on  the  luggage-carrier  and  the 
knapsack  on  J.'s  back.  "  Of  course,"  he  said ; 
we  already  had  enough  to  carry;  would  the 
Signora  forgive  him  for  troubling  her.?  And 
with  a  polite  bow  he  went  on  his  way. 

We  came  to  several  villages  and  towns, — 
some  small,  where  pots  and  bowls,  fresh  from 
the  potter's  wheel,  were  set  out  to  dry  ;  others 
large,  like.  Lastra,  with  heavy  walls  and  gates 


20  Two  Pilgrims    Progress, 

and  old  archways,  and  steps  leading  up  to 
crooked,  steep  streets,  so  narrow  the  sun  never 
shines  into  them ;  or  like  Montelupo,  where 
for  a  while  we  sat  on  the  bridge  without  the 
farther  gate,  looking  at  the  houses  which  climb 
up  the  hillside  to  the  cypress-encircled  mon- 
astery at  the  top.  Women  were  washing  in 
the  stream  below,  and  under  the  poplars  on 
the  bank  a  priest  in  black  robes  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat  walked  with  a  young  lady.  But 
whenever  we  stopped,  children  from  far  and 
near  collected  around  us.  There  were  little 
old-fashioned  girls,  with  handkerchiefs  tied 
over  their  heads  in  womanly  fashion,  who 
kept  on  plaiting  straw,  and  small  boys  nursing 
big  babies,  their  hands  and  mouths  full  of 
bread  and  grapes.  If,  however,  in  their  youth- 
ful curiosity  they  pressed  upon  us  too  closely, 
polite  men  and  women,  who  had  also  come  to 
look,  drove  them  back  with  terrible  cries  of 
Via,  ragazzi !  ("Go  away,  children!")  before 
which  they  retreated  with  the  same  speed  with 
which  they  had  advanced. 

Just    beyond    Montelupo,    when    a    tedious 
up-grade  brought  us  to  a  broad  plateau,  a  cart 


^\  '^^  v-.^""   \  r 


Lastra. 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  21 

suddenly  came  out  a  little  way  in  front  of  us 
from  a  side  road.  A  man  was  driving,  and  on 
the  seat  behind,  and  facing  us,  were  two  nuns, 
who  wore  wide  straw  hats  which  flapped  slowly 
up  and  down  with  the  motion  of  the  cart. 
When  they  saw  us,  the  younger  of  the  two 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if  she 
thought  us  a  device  of  the  Devil.  But  the 
other,  who  looked  the  Lady  Abbess,  met  the 
danger  bravely,  and  sternly  examined  us. 
This  close  scrutiny  reassured  her.  When  we 
drew  nearer  she  wished  us  good-evening,  and 
then  her  companion  turned  and  looked.  We 
told  them  we  were  pilgrims  bound  for  Rome. 
At  this  they  took  courage,  and  the  spokes- 
woman begged  for  the  babies  they  cared  for  in 
Florence.  We  gave  her  a  few  sous.  She 
counted  them  quite  greedily,  and  then — but 
not  till  then  —  benevolently  blessed  us.  They 
were  going  at  jog-trot  pace,  so  that  we  soon 
left  them  behind.  '' Buon  viaggio','  the  Abbess 
cried ;  and  the  silent  sister  smiled,  showing  all 
her  pretty  white  teeth,  for  we  now  represented 
a  temptation  overcome. 


AT    EMPOLI. 

"  The  pilgrim  they  laid  in  a  large 
upper  chamber  whose  window  opened 
towards  the  stinrisingj  the  name  of 
the  chajnber  was  Peace ;  where  he 
slept  till  break  ofday." 

"1 1  T^E  put  up  that  night  at  Empoli.  The 
^  ^  Albergo  Maggiore  was  fair  enough,  and, 
like  all  large  Italian  inns,  had  a  clean  spacious 
stable  in  which  to  shelter  the  tricycle.  The 
only  drawback  to  our  comfort  was  the  misery 
at  dinner  of  the  black-eyed,  blue-shirted  waiter 
at  our  refusal  to  eat  a  dish  of  birds  we  had 
not  ordered.  He  was  very  eager  to  dispose 
of  them.  He  served  them  with  every  course, 
setting  them  on  the  table  with  a  triumphant 
"  Ecco! "  as  if  he  had  prepared  a  delicious 
surprise.  It  was  not  until  he  brought  our 
coffee  that  he  despaired.  Then  he  retired 
mournfully  to  the  kitchen,  where  his  loud  talk 


Two  Pilgrims'  Progress.  23 

with  the  padrona  made  us  fear  their  wrath 
would  fall  upon  us  or  the  tricycle.  But  later 
they  gave  us  candles,  and  said  good-night  with 
such  gracious  smiles  that  we  slept  the  sleep 
which  knows  neither  care  nor  fear. 

The  next  morning  their  temper  was  as  un- 
clouded as  the  sky.  They  both  watched  the 
loading  of  the  tricycle  with  smiling  interest. 
He  had  seen  velocipedes  with  two  wheels,  the 
waiter  said,  but  never  one  with  three.  And 
that  a  Signora  should  ride,  \k\^  padrona  added, 
ah  !  that  indeed  was  strange  !  Then  she 
grew  confidential.  Only  occasionally  I  caught 
her  meaning,  for  my  knowledge  of  Italian  was 
small.  She  had  had  seven  children,  she  said, 
and  all  were  dead  but  one.  And  I,  had  I 
any }  And  where  had  I  bought  my  dress  ? 
She  liked  it  so  much ;  and  she  took  it  in  her 
hand  and  felt  it.  Should  we  stay  long  in 
Italy.?  and  sometime  we  would  come  back  to 
Empoli }  Her  son,  a  litde  fellow,  was  there 
too.  He  had  been  hanging  about  the  machine 
when  we  came  down  to  breakfast,  and  ever 
since.  He  stood  speechless  while  J.  was  by, 
but   when    the    latter   went    away   for    a    few 


24  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

minutes,  —  less  shy  with  me,  I  suppose,  because 
he  knew  I  could  not  understand  him  as  well,  — 
he  asked  what  might  such  a  velocipede  cost  ? 
as  much  perhaps  as  a  hundred  francs?  But 
J.  coming  back  he  was  silent  as  before.  They 
all  followed  us  out  to  the  street,  the  padrona 
shaking  hands  with  us  both,  and  the  boy 
standing  by  the  tricycle  to  the  very  last. 


I 


1  44' 


u 

Q 
O 

Pi 
M 

PL, 


THE    ROAD  TO    FAIR  AND   SOFT 
SIENA. 

"  They  went  till  they  came  into  a 
certain  country  whose  air  naturally 
tended  to  make  one  drowsy.''^ 

"  Let  us  not  sleep  as  do  others^ 
but  let  us  watch  and  be  sober?'' 

TT  was  good  to  be  in  the  open  country  again, 
■*•  warming  ourselves  in  the  hot  sunshine. 
The  second  morning  of  our  ride  was  better 
than  the  first.  We  knew  beforehand  how 
beautiful  the  day  would  be,  and  how  white  and 
smooth  was  the  road  that  lay  before  us.  The 
white  oxen  behind  the  ploughs,  and  the  mules 
in  their  gay  trappings  and  shining  harness 
seemed  like  old  acquaintances.  The  pleasant 
good-morning  given  us  by  every  peasant  we 
met  made  us  forget  we  were  strangers  in  the 
land.  A  little  way  from  Empoli  we  crossed 
the  Ponte  d'Elsa,  and  then  after  a  sharp  turn 
to  the  right  we  were  on  the  road  to  "  fair  and 


26  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

soft  Siena."  It  led  on  through  vineyards  and 
wide  fields  lying  open  to  the  sun,  by  sloping 
hillsides  and  narrow  winding  rivers,  by  villas 
and  gardens  where  roses  were  blooming.  In 
places  they  hung  over  the  wall  into  the  road. 
We  asked  a  little  boy  to  give  us  one,  —  for 
the  Signora,  J.  added.  But  the  child  shook 
his  head.  How  could  he  ?  The  roses  were 
not  his,  he  said.  Once  we  passed  a  wayside 
cross  on  which  loving  hands  had  laid  a  bunch 
of  the  fresh  blossoms.  Sometimes  we  heard 
from  the  far-away  mountains  the  loud  blasting 
of  rocks,  and  then  the  soft  bells  of  a  monas- 
tery ;  sometimes  the  cracking  of  the  whip  of 
a  peasant  behind  us,  driving  an  unwilling 
donkey.  Then  we  would  pass  from  the  still- 
ness of  the  country  into  the  noise  and  clamor 
of  small  villages,  to  hear  the  wondering  cries 
of  the  women  to  which  we  were  already  grow- 
ing accustomed,  the  piercing  yells  of  babies, 
who  well  secured  in  basket  go-carts  could  not 
get  to  us  quickly  enough,  and  the  sing-song 
repetition  of  older  children  saying  their  lesson 
in  school,  and  whom  we  could  see  at  their 
work  through  the  low  windows. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  27 

About  noon  we  rode  into  Certaldo,  —  Boc- 
caccio's town.  1  know  nothing  that  interferes 
so  seriously  with  hero-worship  as  hunger.  I 
confess  that  if  some  one  had  said,  "You  can  go 
either  to  see  Boccaccio's  house  or  to  lunch  at 
a  trattoria,  but  both  these  things  you  cannot 
do,"  our  answer  would  have  been  an  immediate 
order  for  lunch.  We  went  at  once  to  a  trat- 
toria on  the  piazza  where  Boccaccio's  statue 
stands.  I  doubt  if  that  great  man  himself  ever 
gathered  such  numbers  about  him  as  we  did. 
Excited  citizens,  when  the  tricycle  was  put 
away,  stood  on  the  threshold  and  stared  at  us 
until  the  door  was  shut  upon  them.  Then 
they  pressed  their  faces  against  the  windows 
and  peered  over  piles  of  red  and  yellow  pears ; 
and  every  now  and  then  one,  bolder  than  the 
rest,  stealthily  thrust  his  head  in  and  then 
scampered  off  before  he  could  be  captured. 
This  gave  a  spice  of  novelty  and  excitement 
to  our  midday  meal.  We  ordered  a  very  sim- 
ple lunch,  —  soup,  bread  and  cheese,  coffee  and 
vermouth.  But  the  padrona  had  to  send  out 
for  everything.  Her  sister,  a  young  girl  as 
fair  as  an  Englishwoman,  was  her  messenger. 


28  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

We  were  scarcely  seated  before  she  came  back 
with  coffee  and  a  large  bottle  which  she  set 
before  us.  This,  of  course,  was  the  vermouth, 
and  we  half  filled  our  glasses  and  at  once 
drank  a  little.  The  two  women  stared  with  a 
surprise  we  could  not  understand.  The  fair 
girl  now  disappeared  on  a  second  foraging 
expedition,  and  stayed  away  until  we  had  fin- 
ished our  soup.  "  Ecco,  vermouth  !  "  she  said 
on  her  return,  putting  another  bottle  in  front 
of  us.  Then  we  knew  the  reason  of  their 
wonder.  We  had  swallowed,  like  so  much 
water,  the  not  over-strong  cognac  intended 
only  to  flavor  our  coffee. 

Presently  the  padrona  entered  into  con- 
versation with  us.  We  were  English,  she 
supposed.  No  ;  Americans,  we  told  her.  At 
this  there  was  great  rejoicing.  They  had  a 
brother  in  America.  He  lived  in  a  large  town 
called  Buenos  Ayres,  where  he  kept  a  tratio- 
ria.  Like  theirs  it  was  the  Trattoria  Boc- 
caccio. They  were  glad  to  see  any  one  from 
the  same  country,  whether  from  north  or  south. 
Was  it  not  all  America  ?  The  padrona  went 
upstairs    to    bring   down    his    picture  that   we 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  29 

might  see  it.  Her  sister  pointed  to  the  pur- 
ple woollen  jersey  she  wore,  and  said  with 
pride  her  brother  had  sent  it  to  her.  It  too 
was  American.  They  even  called  in  their  old 
mother,  that  she  might  see  her  son's  fellow- 
countrymen. 

We  spent  an  hour  wandering  through  the 
old  town,  on  top  of  the  hill,  in  which  Boccaccio 
really  lived.  The  sun  was  shining  right  down 
into  the  streets,  in  which  the  gay  kerchiefs 
of  the  women,  the  bunches  of  straw  at  their 
waists,  and  their  cornstalk  distaffs  made  bright 
bits  of  color.  Though  we  left  the  tricycle  at 
the  trattoria,  our  coming  made  a  stir  in  the 
little  place.  Our  clothes  were  not  like  unto 
those  of  the  natives,  and  J.'s  knee-breeches  and 
long  black  stockings  made  them  wonder  what 
manner  of  priest  he  might  be.  As  we  stood 
looking  at  the  loggia  and  tower  and  arched 
doorway  of  Boccaccio's  house,  the  custodian, 
with  a  heavy  bunch  of  keys,  came  to  take  us 
through  it.  But  we  declined  his  services.  We 
cared  more  for  the  old  streets  and  walls  and 
palaces,  which,  though  their  greatness  has 
gone,  have  not  been  changed  since  mediaeval 


30  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

times,  than  for  an  interior,  however  fine,  whose 
mediaevalism  dates  from  to-day.  The  old  man 
turned  rather  sulkily.  J.,  seeing  there  had 
been  some  mistake,  explained  we  had  not  sent 
for  him.  Then  his  face  cleared.  The  women 
had  said  we  wanted  him,  else  he  would  never 
have  disturbed  us ;  and  he  took  off  his  hat, 
and  this  time  went  away  with  a  friendly  a 
rivederle. 

The  Palazzo  Communale,  at  the  highest 
point  of  the  town,  is  still  covered  with  the 
arms  and  insignia  of  other  years,  of  the  Medici 
and  Piccolomini,  of  the  Orsini  and  Baglioni. 
Its  vaulted  doorway  is  still  decorated  with 
frescos  of  the  Madonna,  and  saints  and 
angels.  But  everywhere  the  plaster  is  falling 
away,  and  in  the  courtyard  grass  grows 
between  the  bricks  of  the  pavement;  and  in- 
stead of  pages  and  men-at-arms,  we  there  saw 
only  a  little  brown-faced  ragged  child  climb- 
ing cat-like  over  the  roofs,  and  a  woman  scold- 
ing him  from  below.  We  left  the  town  by 
the  frescoed  gateway,  through  which  we  saw 
the  near  hills,  gray,  bare,  and  furrowed,  the 
long  lines  of  cypresses,  the  stretches  of  gray 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  31 

olives,  the  valley  below  with  its  vineyards, 
and  the  far  mountains,  purple  and  shadowy, 
the  highest  topped  with  many-towered  San 
Gimignano. 

It  is  better  not  to  be  jocund  with  the  fruitful 
grape  in  the  middle  of  the  day  when  one  is 
tricycling.  The  cognac  we  had  taken  at  lunch, 
weak  as  it  was,  and  the  vermouth  made  us 
sleepy  and  our  feet  heavy.  I  sympathized  with 
the  men  who  lay  in  sound  slumbers  in  every 
cart  we  met.  But  their  drowsiness  forced  us 
into  wakefulness.  Of  the  ride  from  Certaldo 
to  Poggibonsi,  I  remember  best  the  loud  inar- 
ticulate cries  of  J.  and  his  calls  of  ''  Eccomi!'' 
as  if  he  were  lord  of  the  land,  to  sleeping  driv- 
ers. The  Italian  cry  of  the  roads,  rising  to  a 
high  note  and  then  suddenly  falling  and  end- 
ing in  a  low  prolonged  one,  which  is  indispen- 
sable to  travellers,  is  not  easy  to  learn.  J.'s 
proficiency  in  it,  however,  made  him  pass  for 
a  native  when  he  limited  himself  to  howling. 
But  often  donkeys  darted  into  ditches  and 
oxen  plunged  across  the  road  before  the  peas- 
ants behind  them  awoke.  Like  Sancho  Panza 
they  had  a  talent  for  sleeping. 


32  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

Once,  after  we  had  climbed  a  short  but  steep 
hill  and  had  passed  by  several  wagons  in  rapid 
succession,  we  stopped  under  the  shade  to  rest. 
It  was  a  pleasant  place.  We  looked  over  the 
broad  valley,  where  the  vines  were  festooned, 
not  as  Virgil  saw  them,  from  elm  to  elm, 
but  from  mulberry  to  mulberry,  and  up  to 
San  Gimignano,  beginning  to  take  more  defi- 
nite shape  on  its  mountain-top.  A  peasant  in 
peaked  hat  and  blue  shirt,  with  trousers  rolled 
up  high  above  his  bare  knees,  crossed  the  road 
and  silently  examined  the  tricycle.  "You  have 
a  good  horse,"  he  then  said  ;  "  it  eats  nothing." 
We  asked  him  if  they  were  at  work  in  his 
vineyard.  No,  he  answered ;  but  would  we 
like  to  look  in  the  wine-press  opposite  ?  And 
then  he  took  us  through  the  dark  windowless 
building,  where  on  one  side  the  grape-juice 
was  fermenting  in  large  butts,  and  on  the  other 
fresh  grapes  had  been  laid  on  sets  of  shelves  to 
dry.  He  picked  out  two  of  the  finest  bunches 
and  gave  them  to  me.  When  I  offered  to  pay 
him  he  refused.  The  Signora  must  accept 
them,  he  said. 

As  the  road  was  now  a  dead  level  and  lumpy 


Two   Pilgrims'   Progress,  33 

into  the  bargain,  we  were  glad  when  Poggi- 
bonsi  was  in  sight.  We  drew  up  on  a  bridge 
where  a  man  was  standing,  to  ask  him  if  he 
knew  of  a  good  inn.  He  recommended  the 
Albergo  dell'  Aquila.  "  It  is  good,"  he  went 
on,  "and  not  too  dear.  This  is  not  a  town 
where  they  take  one  by  the  neck,"  and  he 
clutched  his  own  throat.  So  to  the  Albergo 
deir  Aquila  we  went.  We  had  only  to  ride 
through  the  wide  avenue  of  shady  trees,  past 
a  row  of  houses,  out  of  one  of  which  a  brown- 
robed  monk  came,  to  rush  back  at  sight  of 
us,  past  a  washing-place  surrounded  by  busy 
chattering  v/omen,  and  w^e  were  at  the  door 
of  the  inn. 


AT    POGGIBONSI. 

"  Then  she  asked  hhn  whence  he 
was  come  and  whither  he  was  go- 
ing; and  he  told  her.  She  asked 
him  also  how  he  got  into  the  way  j 
and  he  told  her.  And  last  she  asked 
his  Jiame.'^ 

T^HE  Albergo  dell'  Aquila  was  even  more 
"^  comfortable  than  the  Maggiore  in  Em- 
poli.  We  dined  in  a  room  from  whose  walls 
King  Humbert  and  his  Queen  smiled  upon 
us,  while  opposite  were  two  sensational  and 
suggestive  brigands  in  lonely  mountain  passes. 
The  padrona  came  up  with  the  salad,  and  she 
and  the  waiter  in  a  cheerful  duet  catechised  us 
after  the  friendly  Italian  fashion,  and  then  told 
us  about  the  visit  to  their  house  of  the  Ameri- 
can consul  from  Florence ;  of  the  hard  times 
the  cholera  had  brought  with  it  for  all  Italy;  of 
the  bad  roads  to  San  Gimignano  and  the  steep 
ones  to  Siena,  along  which  peasants  never  trav- 
elled without  bearing  in  mind  the  old  saying, 


Two   Pilgrhns    Progress,  35 

Air  ingiu  tutti  i  santi  ajutano ;  ma  alV  insu 
ci  vuol  Gesu,  — "  Going  down  hill,  call  upon 
the  saints;  but  going  up,  one  needs  Jesus." 
Before  long  J.  joined  in  the  talk,  and  the  duet 
became  a  trio.  Never  had  I  been  so  impressed 
with  his  fluent  Italian.  Even  the  padrona  was 
not  readier  with  her  words  than  he  with  his. 
When  I  spoke  to  him  about  it  afterwards,  he 
said  he  supposed  it  was  wonderful ;  he  had  not 
understood  half  of  it  himself. 

After  dinner  and  in  the  twilight  we  walked 
through  the  lively  crowded  streets  and  into  the 
church,  where  service  was  just  over.  A  priest 
in  white  surplice  left  the  altar,  and  another 
began  to  put  the  lights  out  when  we  entered. 
But  in  the  unlit  nave  many  of  the  faithful  still 
knelt  in  prayer.  The  town  grew  quieter  as 
night  came  on.  But  just  as  we  were  going  to 
sleep  some  men  went  along  the  street  below 
our  window  singing.  One  in  a  loud  clear 
tenor  sang  the  tune,  the  others  the  accompani- 
ment like  a  part  song,  and  the  effect  was  that 
of  a  great  guitar.  Their  song  was  a  fitting 
good-night  to  a  day  to  whose  beauty  there  had 
been  not  a  cloud. 


IN   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

"  He  saw  a  most  pleasant  moun- 
tainous  country,  beautified  with 
woods,  vineyards,  fruits  of  ail  sorts, 
flowers  also  with  springs  atid  fou?i- 
tains,  very  delectable  to  behold.^'' 

THROUGH  we  left  Poggibonsi  in  the  begin- 
-*-  ning  of  the  morning,  a  large  crowd  waited 
for  us  at  the  door  of  the  inn.  The  padrona 
said  farewell  with  many  good  wishes  ;  men  and 
women  we  had  never  seen  before  called  out 
pleasantly  a  rivederle,  two  carabinieri  watched 
us  from  the  other  side  of  the  piazza,  the  railroad 
officials  at  the  station  cried  "  Partenza  I  Par- 
tenza  !  "  and  then  we  were  off  and  out  of  the 
town.  It  would  be  su,  su,  su,  all  the  way  they 
told  us  at  the  inn,  but  for  several  miles  we 
went  fast  enough,  so  that  I  felt  sure  the  peas- 
ants we  passed  were  still  only  calling  on  the 
saints.     The  ascent  at  first  was  very  gradual. 


ri^ 


w 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  37 

while  the  road  was  excellent.  There  were 
down  as  well  as  up  grades,  and  for  every  steep 
climb  we  had  a  short  coast.  Now  we  came 
out  on  villas  which  but  a  little  before  had  been 
above  us,  and  now  we  reached  the  very  sum- 
mit of  hills  from  which  we  looked  forth  upon 
mountain  rising  beyond  mountain,  —  some 
treeless  and  ashen  gray,  others  thickly  wooded 
and  glowing  with  golden  greens  and  russets, 
and  still  others  white  and  mist-like,  and  seem- 
ing to  melt  into  the  soft  white  clouds  resting 
on  their  highest  peaks.  All  along,  the  hedges 
were  covered  with  clusters  of  red  rose-berries 
and  the  orange  berries  of  the  pyracanthus. 
The  grass  by  the  roadside  was  gay  with  bril- 
liant crimson  pinks,  yellow  snapdragons  and 
dandelions,  and  violet  daisies.  Once  we  came 
to  a  vineyard  where  the  ripe  fruit  still  hung 
in  purple  clusters  from  the  vines,  and  where 
men  and  women,  some  on  foot  and  others  on 
ladders,  were  gathering  and  filling  w^ith  them 
large  buckets  and  baskets.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  field  white  oxen,  their  great  heads  deco- 
rated with  red  ribbons,  stood  in  waiting.  Boys 
with  buckets  slung  on  long  poles  were  coming 


38  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

and  going  between  the  vines.  In  all  the  other 
vineyards  we  had  passed  the  vintage  was  over, 
so  we  waited  to  watch  the  peasants  as,  laugh- 
ing and  singing,  they  worked  away.  But  when 
they  saw  us,  they  too  stopped  and  looked,  and 
one  man  came  down  from  his  ladder  and  to 
the  hedge  to  offer  us  a  bunch  of  grapes. 

The  only  town  through  which  we  rode  was 
Staggia,  where  workmen  were  busy  restoring 
the  old  tower  and  making  it  a  greater  ruin 
than  it  had  ever  been  before.  One  town  gate 
has  gone,  but  from  the  battlements  of  the 
other  grass  and  weeds  still  wave  with  the 
wind,  while  houses  have  been  built  into  the 
broken  walls.  It  is  a  degenerate  little  town, 
and  its  degeneracy,  paradoxical  as  it  may 
sound,  is  the  result  of  its  activity.  For  its  in- 
habitants have  not  rested  content  like  those 
of  Lastra  with  the  mediaevalism  that  surrounds 
them.  They  have  striven  to  make  what  is  old 
new  by  painting  their  church  and  many  of 
their  houses  in  that  scene-painting  style  which 
to-day  seems  to  represent  the  art  of  the  people 
in  Italy.  Often  during  our  journey  we  saw 
specimens  of   this  vile  fashion,  —  houses  with 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  39 

sham  windows  and  shutters,  churches  with 
make-believe  curtains  and  cords,  —  but  nowhere 
was  it  so  prominent  as  in  Staggia. 

Beyond  Monteriggione,  whose  towers  alone 
showed  above  its  high  walls,  the  road  began 
to  wind  upward  on  the  mountain-side.  It  was 
such  a  long,  steady  pull  that  although  the  sur- 
face was  perfect  we  gave  up  riding  and  walked. 
Our  machine  was  heavily  loaded,  and  not  too 
easy  to  work  over  prolonged  up-grades.  Be- 
sides, we  were  not  time  nor  record  makers,  nor 
perambulating  advertisements,  and  we  had  the 
day  before  us.  We  were  now  closed  in  with 
woods.  On  either  side  were  chestnuts  and 
dwarf-oaks  and  bushes,  their  leaves  all  "  yellow 
and  black  and  pale  and  hectic  red."  And  oc- 
casional openings  showed  near  mountain-tops 
covered  with  downy  gray  grass  and  a  low 
growth  like  heather,  and  here  and  there  were 
groups  of  dark  pines.  For  an  hour  at  least 
we  were  alone  with  the  sounds  and  silence 
of  the  mountains.  The  wandering  wind  whis- 
pered in  the  wood  and  black  swine  rooted  in 
the  fallen  leaves,  but  of  human  life  there  was 
no  sign.     Then  there  came  from  afar  a  regular 


40  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

tap-tap,  low  at  first,  but  growing  louder  and 
louder,  until,  as  we  drew  closer  to  it,  we  knew 
it  to  be  the  steady  hammering  of  stone- 
breakers.  There  were  two  men  at  work  in 
this  lonely  pass,  and  as  we  stood  talking  to 
them  two  more  came  from  under  the  chestnuts. 
These  had  guns  on  their  shoulders,  and  wore 
high  boots  and  the  high-crowned  conventional 
brigand  hats.  Ever  since  we  left  Florence  we 
had  seen  at  intervals  in  the  fields  and  woods  a 
notice  with  the  words,  " E  vietata  la  bandita',' 
which  we  interpreted  as  a  warning  against  the 
bandits  or  convicts  for  whom  our  Florentine 
friends  had  prepared  us.  And  now  we  seemed 
to  have  come  face  to  face  with  two  of  these  bri- 
gands. But  it  turned  out  that  there  was  little 
of  the  bandit  about  them  save  their  appearance. 
Their  ^runs  were  for  birds,  and  later  on  we 
learned  that  the  alarming  signs  were  merely  to 
forbid  the  trespassing  of  these  very  gentlemen. 
A  mile  or  two  farther  on,  the  road  began  to 
go  down  again.  We  were  both  glad  to  be  on 
the  machine  after  our  walk.  We  could  see  to 
the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  there  was  no  one  in 
sight.     J.  let  go  the  brake.     None  but  cyclers 


o 

H 
U 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  41 

know  the  delight  of  a  five-minutes  coast  after 
hours  of  up-hill  toiling.  They,  however,  will 
sympathize  with  our  pleasure  in  the  mountains 
near  Siena.  But  when  it  was  at  its  fullest,  and 
the  machine  was  going  at  the  rate  of  about 
twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  neither  brake  nor 
back-pedalling  could  bring  it  to  a  sudden  halt, 
a  man  (or  the  foul  fiend  himself)  drove  a  flock 
of  sheep  out  from  the  woods  a  few  feet  in  front 
of  us.  When  we  reached  them  only  the  first 
had  crossed  the  road ;  of  course,  all  the  rest 
had  to  follow.  They  tried  to  go  on  right 
through  the  wheels,  but  only  succeeded  in  get- 
ting under  them,  setting  the  machine  to  pitch- 
ing like  a  ship  in  a  heavy  sea.  But  I  held  on 
fast;  J.  stood  on  the  pedals  and  screwed  the 
brake  down ;  the  little  wheel  scattered  the  sheep 
like  the  cow-catcher  of  an  engine,  and  we 
brought  up  in  the  gutter.  Before  we  stopped, 
J.  began  a  moral  lecture  to  the  shepherd,  and 
was  showing  him  how,  if  the  machine  had 
gone  over,  the  consequences  would  have  been 
worse  for  us  than  for  his  flock.  The  lecture 
ended  rather  ^Wmorally  with  accidente  voi,  and 
imbecile,   the    deadliest  of   all    Italian  maledic- 


42  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

tions,  punishable  in  places  by  imprisonment. 
The  shepherd  looked  as  if  he  was  ready  to 
curse  us  in  return,  but  before  he  had  time  we 
were  out  of  hearing,  though  we  first  made  sure 
that  no  sheep  were  injured.  We  were  none 
the  worse  for  the  accident,  and  the  tricycle  was 
unhurt,  save  for  a  deep  dent  in  the  dress  guard. 
The  rest  of  our  way  was  divided  between 
walking  and  riding.  The  woods  with  their 
solitude  and  wildness,  but  not  the  good  road, 
came  to  an  end.  Once  beyond  them,  we 
wheeled  out  by  fields  where  men  and  women 
were  at  work,  their  oxen  whiter  than  any  we 
had  yet  seen,  by  contrast  with  the  rich  red 
of  the  upturned  earth.  In  olive-gardens  peas- 
ants were  eating  their  midday  meal ;  men  with 
white  aprons,  women  with  enormous  Sienese 
hats,  and  dogs  and  oxen  were  all  resting  so- 
ciably together.  By  the  roadside  others  were 
making  rope,  the  men  twisting  and  forever 
walking  backwards,  a  small  boy  always  turn- 
ing at  the  wheel.  Scattered  on  the  hill-tops 
and  by  the  road  were  large  red-brick  farm- 
houses, instead  of  the  white  ones  we  had  seen 
near  Florence. 


fs 


Two   Pilgrims'   Progress,  43 

At  one,  where  there  was  a  well  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  we  asked  for  a  glass  of  water. 
A  man  brought  it  to  the  gate,  where  he  was 
joined  by  three  or  four  others.  They  stared 
inquiringly  at  the  tricycle,  at  the  bags,  and 
at  us,  while  J.  squeezed  lemon-juice  into  the 
water.  Then  one  opened  his  mouth  very  wide 
and  pointed  to  his  teeth :  "  The  little  sir," 
he  asked,  "is  he  a  dentist?" 

It  was  noon  when  we  first  saw  Siena,  and 
we  were  then  at  the  very  walls.  In  the  old 
days  it  was  always  said,  "  More  than  her 
gates,  Siena  opens  her  heart  to  you!"  But 
the  heart  of  him  who  sat  in  office  by  the 
city  gate  was  shut  against  us.  When  we 
rode  past  him  he  bade  us  descend.  To  our 
''Perche?''  he  said  it  was  the  law.  Oh  the 
vanity  of  these  Sienese !  Through  the  streets 
of  Florence  and  over  the  crowded  Ponte 
Vecchio  we  had  ridden  undisturbed ;  but  in 
this  mountain  town,  which  boasts  of  but  two 
hacks,  and  where  donkeys  and  oxen  are  the 
only  beasts  to  be  frightened,  we  were  forced 
to  get  down.  The  dignity  of  the  law-makers 
of  the  city  must  be   respected.      So  we    two 


44  l^'^o   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

weary  pilgrims  had  to  walk  along  the  narrow 
streets,  between  the  tall  palaces,  while  tanners 
in  red  caps,  and  women  in  flowered,  white- 
ribboned  festa  hats,  and  priests  and  soldiers 
stared,  and  one  man,  with  a  long  push-cart, 
kept  close  to  us  like  an  evil  genius  in  a  dream. 
He  was  now  on  one  side,  and  now  on  the 
other,  examining  the  wheels,  asking  endless 
questions,  and  always  getting  in  the  way.  At 
all  the  street  corners  he  hurried  on  before,  and 
with  loud  shouts  called  the  people  to  come  and 
see.  Then  he  was  at  our  heels  again,  shriek- 
ing his  loud,  shrill  trade-cry  into  our  very  ears. 
J.  as  a  rule  is  not  ill-tempered;  but  there  is 
a  limit  to  all  things.  The  stupid  sheep,  the 
watchful  guard,  and  now  this  plague  of  a  flower- 
pedler  brought  his  patience  to  an  end,  and  on 
our  way  through  the  town  he  said  much  in 
good  plain  English  which  it  was  well  the  citi- 
zens could  not  understand. 


FAIR    AND    SOFT    SIENA. 

"  For  there  where  I  go  is  enough 
and  to  spared 

^^  Read  it  so,  if  you  will,  in  my 
Book:' 

TTVEN  pilgrims  of  old  on  their  way  to 
-^-'  Rome  sometimes  tarried  in  castle  or 
village.  We  could  not  pass  through  Siena, 
discourteous  though  her  first  welcome  had 
been,  as  we  had  through  smaller  and  less  fair 
towns.  So  for  a  day  or  two  we  put  away 
our  tricycle  and  the  "  cockle-shells  and  sandal 
shoon "  of  our  pilgrimage.  We  went  to  a 
pension,  one  at  which  J.  had  stayed  before, 
and  which  he  liked.  I  admit  it  was  better 
in  many  ways  than  the  inns  in  which  hitherto 
we  had  slept  and  eaten.  There  was  carpet 
on  the  floor  of  our  room,  and  in  it  easy-chairs 
and  a  lounge.  There  were  elaborate  break- 
fasts at  one,  and  still  more  elaborate  dinners 


46  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

at  six,  and  there  was  always  a  great  plenty,  — 
as  the  Englishwoman  who  sat  next  me,  and 
who  I  fear  had  not  always  fared  so  well,  said 
when  she  urged  me  to  eat  and  drink  more 
of  the  fruit  and  wine  set  before  me.  "You 
can  have  all  you  want  in  this  house,"  she  fin- 
ished with  a  sigh,  as  if  her  crown  of  sorrow 
was  in  remembering  unhappier  things.  But 
we  both  thought  regretfully  of  the  dining- 
rooms  with  the  bad  prints  on  the  walls,  and 
the  more  modest  dinners  of  our  own  ordering. 
I  think  too  we  had  found  more  pleasure  in 
the  half-understood  talk  of  padroni  and  waiters 
than  we  did  now  in  the  elegant  and  learned 
conversation  of  our  fellow-boarders,  for  they 
were  all,  it  seemed,  persons  of  learning  and 
refinement.  There  was  the  retired  English 
major-general  who  sat  opposite  and  who  had 
written  a  book,  as  he  very  soon  let  us  know. 
He  recognized  us  as  Americans  before  we 
opened  our  mouths  to  speak,  which  fact  he 
also  let  us  know  by  his  reminiscences,  ad- 
dressed not  to  us  but  to  our  neighbors.  He 
had  travelled  in  Spain  with  Mr.  Fillmore,  the 
ex-President,  "  the   most  courteous  of  gentle- 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  47 

men ; "  he  said  he  well  knew  Mr.  Marion 
Crawford,  the  talented  novelist,  and  his  uncle, 
"dear  old  Sam  Ward;"  he  had  counted  among 
his  best  friends  Bay2,xdi  Taylor,  "  as  you  re- 
member I  have  said  in  my  book."  This  same 
book  which  made  the  major  so  communicative 
appeared  to  have  crushed  the  spirit  out  of  his 
wife  ;  she  sat  silent  during  dinner,  fortifying 
herself  at  intervals  with  weak  whiskey  and 
water. 

Then  there  was  the  elderly  English  lady 
travelling  abroad  with  her  daughter  "who  has 
just  taken  up  architecture ; "  she  informed  us, 
"  she  has  always  painted  heads  till  now,  but 
she  is  fascinated  by  her  architectural  work. 
Then  I,  you  know,  am  so  fond  of  water-colors." 
And  there  was  the  Swedish  lady,  who  could 
talk  all  languages,  speaking  to  us  in  something 
supposed  to  be  English,  and  who  was  as  eager 
in  her  pursuit  of  food  for  the  body  as  for  the 
mind.  I  count  the  way  in  which  she  greedily 
swallowed  the  vino  santo  in  her  glass,  when 
our  host  passed  round  the  table  the  second 
time  with  his  precious  bottle,  one  of  the  won- 
ders of  our  visit  to   Siena.      It   was  pathetic 


48  Two   Pilgri7ns    Progress, 

too  to  see  her  disappointment  when  he  turned 
away,  just  before  he  reached  her,  his  bottle 
empty.  And  there  were  still  others  who  knew 
much  about  pictures  and  palaces,  statues  and 
studios,  and  no  doubt  we  might  greatly  have 
profited  thereby. 

But  we  liked  it  better  upstairs,  where  we 
were  alone  and  there  was  less  culture.  Our 
window  overlooked  a  high  terrace  in  which 
marigolds  and  many-colored  chrysanthemums 
were  blooming,  the  gardens  of  the  Piccolo- 
mini  Palace  full  of  broad-leaved  fig-trees  and 
pale  olives,  and  the  wide  waste  of  mountain 
and  moorland  stretching  from  the  red  city 
walls  to  the  high,  snow-capped  Apennines  on 
the  horizon.  All  the  morning  the  sun  shone 
in  our  windows,  and  every  hour  and  even 
oftener  we  heard  the  church  bells,  and  the 
loud,  clear  bugle-calls  from  the  barracks,  once 
a  monastery,  whose  mass  of  red  and  gray  walls 
rose  from  the  near  olives.  They  say  it  snows 
in  Siena  in  the  winter-time,  and  that  it  is  cold 
and  bleak  and  dreary ;  but  I  shall  always  think 
of  it  as  a  place  of  flowers  and  sunshine  and 
sweet  sounds. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  49 

But  best  of  all  were  the  hours  when  we  wan- 
dered through  the  town,  up  and  down  dark 
alley-ways  and  flights  of  steps,  under  brick 
arches,  along  precipitate  narrow  streets  where 
we  had  to  press  close  to  the  houses,  or  retreat 
into  an  open  door,  to  let  the  wide-horned  oxen 
pass  by  with  their  load ;  now  coming  out  at  the 
very  foot  of  La  Mangia,  on  the  broad,  sunny 
piazza;  now  by  the  tanneries  where  little 
streams  of  brown  water  trickled  down  towards 
the  washing-place  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
where  the  walls  were  hung  with  dripping  brown 
skins,  probably  just  as  they  were  when  the  lit- 
tle Catherine  —  her  visions  already  beginning 
—  and  Stefano  walked  by  them  and  towards 
home  in  the  fading  evening  light,  from  a  visit 
to  the  older  and  married  sister  Bonaventura. 
One  hour  we  were  with  the  past  in  the 
shadowy  aisles  of  the  Duomo,  where  Moses 
and  Trismegistus,  Solomon  and  Socrates, 
Sibyls  and  Angels  looked  up  at  us  from  the 
pavement,  and  rows  of  popes  kept  watch  from 
above  the  tall  black  and  white  pillars,  while  in 
the  choir  beyond  priests  chanted  their  solemn 
psalms.     Next  we  were  with  the  present  in  the 

4 


50  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

gay  Lizza,  under  the  acacias  and  yellow  chest- 
nuts, by  flower-beds  full  of  roses  and  scarlet 
sage,  and  walls  now  covered  with  brilliant 
Virginia  creepers  ;  and  out  on  the  fort  above 
to  see  a  golden  sky,  and  the  sun  disappearing 
behind  banks  of  purple,  golden-edged,  and  red 
clouds,  and  pale,  misty  hills,  and  to  look  back 
across  the  hollov/  to  the  red  town  climbing  up 
from  low  olive-gardens  towards  the  Duomo  on 
its  hill-top,  and  tall  La  Mangia  towering  aloft 
from  its  own  little  hollow  beyond.  From  every 
side  came  the  voices  of  many  people,  —  of  sol- 
diers in  the  barracks,  of  women  and  children 
under  the  trees,  of  ball-players  in  the  old  court 
below,  and  of  applauding  lookers-on  lounging 
on  the  marble  benches. 

The  tall  unfinished  arch  of  the  Duomo  that 
rises  above  houses  and  churches,  and  indeed 
above  everything  but  the  lofty  La  Mangia  and 
the  Campanile,  tells  the  story  of  greatness  and 
power  and  wealth  suddenly  checked.  But  the 
deadly  plague,  which  carried  off  so  many  citi- 
zens that  not  even  enough  were  left  to  make 
their  city  beautiful  as  they  meant  it  should  be, 
could  not  take  away  the  great  beauty  it  already 


By  the  River. 

Pap-e  50. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  51 

had,  nor  kill  the  joyousness  of  its  people. 
There  are  no  Spendthrift  Clubs  in  Siena  now, 
nor  any  gay  Lanos  like  him  Dante  met  in  the 
hiferno.  But  there  are  still  laughter  and  song 
loving  Sienese  who  in  their  own  simple  fash- 
ion ^o  through  life  gathering  rosebuds  while 
they  may.  It  seemed  to  me  a  very  pretty 
fashion  when  I  saw  them  holiday-making  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  peasants,  priests,  officers, 
townspeople,  all  out  in  their  Sunday  best, 
and  when  on  the  Via  Cavour,  near  the  Loggia^ 
we  met  two  wandering  minstrels  singing  love- 
songs  through  the  town.  One  played  on  a 
mandolin  which  hung  from  his  neck  by  a  wide 
red  ribbon,  and  as  he  played  he  sang.  His 
voice  was  loud  and  strong  and  very  sweet,  and 
like  another  Orpheus  he  drew  after  him  all 
who  heard  his  music.  His  companion  sold 
copies  of  the  song,  printed  on  pink  paper,  gay 
as  the  words.  He  went  bowing  and  smiling 
in  and  out  of  the  crowd, — from  the  women 
whose  broad  hats  waved  as  they  kept  time  to 
the  singing,  to  the  men  who  had  stuck  feathers 
in  their  soft  felts  worn  jauntily  on  one  side ; 
from  demure  little  girls  holding  their  nurses' 


52  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

hands,  to  swaggering  soldiers.  Then  when  the 
first  singer  rested  he,  in  his  turn,  sang  a  verse. 
There  was  with  them  a  small  boy  who  every 
now  and  then  broke  in  in  a  high  treble,  so  that 
there  w^as  no  pause  in  the  singing. 

Wherever  we  w^ent  that  afternoon,  whether 
by  the  Duomo  or  out  by  the  Porta  Romana, 
on  the  Lizza  or  near  San  Domenico,  we  saw 
large  written  posters,  announcing  that  at  six 
in  the  evening  there  would  be,  at  No.  17 
Via  Ricasoli,  a  great  marionette  performance 
of  the  Ponte  dei  Sospiri.  Apparently  this  was 
to  be  the  event  of  the  day,  and  to  it  we  deter^ 
mined  to  go.  When  a  little  before  the  ap- 
pointed hour  we  came  to  the  Via  Ricasoli,  we 
half  expected  to  see  a  theatre  ablaze  with  light. 
What  we  did  find  after  much  difficulty  was  a 
low  doorway  on  the  ground  floor  of  a  many- 
storied  palace,  and  before  it  a  woman  by  a 
table,  lighting  a  very  small  lamp,  to  the  evident 
satisfaction  of  half  a  dozen  youngsters.  Over 
the  open  doorway  was  a  chintz  curtain  ;  be- 
hind it,  darkness.  This  was  not  encouraging. 
But  presently  a  woman  with  a  child  came  to 
buy    tickets.     One   of   the   group  of   youthful 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  53 

admirers  was  then  sent  up  and  a  second  down 
the  street,  and  after  they  had  come  back  with 
mysterious  bundles  another  lamp  was  produced, 
lit,  and  carried  inside,  and  the  first  two  of  the 
audience  followed.  It  was  now  five  minutes  of 
six,  so  we  also  bought  our  tickets,  three  soldiy 
or  cents,  for  each,  and  the  curtain  was  drawn 
for  us. 

A  low  crypt-like  room  with  vaulted  ceiling  ; 
at  one  end  two  screens  covered  with  white 
sheets ;  between  them  a  stage  somewhat  larger 
than  that  of  a  street  Punch,  with  a  curtain 
representing  a  characteristic  Sienese  brick  wall 
enclosing  a  fountain  ;  several  rows  of  rough 
wooden  benches,  and  one  of  chairs,  —  this  was 
what  we  saw  by  the  dim  light  of  one  lamp. 
We  sat  on  the  last  bench.  The  audience 
probably  would  be  more  entertaining  than  the 
play.  But  the  humble  shall  be  exalted.  The 
woman  on  the  front  row  bade  us  come  up 
higher.  The  small  boy  who  acted  as  usher 
told  us  we  might  have  two  of  the  chairs  for 
two  soldi  more.  The  ticket-seller  even  came 
in,  and  in  soft  pleading  tones  said  that  we 
might  have  any  places  we  wanted ;    why  then 


54  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

should  we  choose  the  worst?     But  we  refused 
the  exaltation. 

The  audience  now  began  to  arrive  in  good 
earnest.  Five  ragged  boys  of  the  gamin  spe- 
cies, one  of  a  neater  order  with  his  little  sister 
by  the  hand,  two  soldiers,  a  lady  with  a  blue 
feather  in  her  bonnet,  and  her  child  and  nurse, 
two  young  girls,  —  and  the  benches  were  al- 
most filled.  Our  friend  the  ticket-seller  be- 
came very  active  as  business  grew  brisk.  She 
was  always  running  in  and  out,  now  giving 
this  one  a  seat,  now  rearranging  the  reserved 
chairs,  and  now  keeping  the  younger  members 
of  the  audience  in  order.  Ragazzini,  she  called 
the  unruly  boys  who  stood  up  on  the  benches 
and  whistled  and  sang,  so  that  I  wondered 
what  diminutive  she  gave  the  swells  on  the 
front  row.  This  was  amusing  enough,  but  our 
dinner-hour  was  half-past  six.  J.  looked  at 
his  watch ;  it  was  a  quarter  past.  The  ever- 
watchful  keeper  of  the  show  saw  him.  "  Ah, 
the  Signore  must  not  be  impatient.  Ecco ! 
the  music  was  about  to  begin."  Begin  it  did 
indeed,  to  be  continued  with  a  persistency 
which  made  us  fear  it  would  never  end.     The 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  55 

musicians  were  two.  A  young  man  in  vel- 
veteen coat  and  long  yellow  necktie  played 
the  clarionet,  and  another  the  cornet.  They 
knew  only  one  tune,  —  a  waltz  I  think  it  was 
meant  to  be,  —  but  that  they  gave  without  stint, 
playing  it  over  and  over  again,  even  while 
the  ticket-seller  made  them  move  from* their 
chairs  to  a  long,  high  box  by  the  wall ;  and 
when  a  third  arrived  with  a  trombone  they 
let  him  join  in  when  and  as  it  best  pleased 
him.  When  we  had  heard  at  least  the  twenty- 
fifth  repetition  of  the  waltz,  had  looked  at  the 
scuffling  of  the  ragazzini  until  even  that  pleas- 
ure palled,  had  seen  the  soldiers  smoke  sigaro 
Cavour  after  sigaro  Cavour  so  that  the  air 
grew  heavy,  and  had  watched  the  gradual 
growth  of  the  audience  until  every  place  was 
filled,  our  patience  was  exhausted.  Behold! 
we  said  to  the  woman  with  the  gentle  voice, 
it  was  now  seven.  The  play  was  announced 
for  six.  Was  this  right  .^  In  a  house  not  far 
off  every  one  was  eating,  and  two  covers  were 
laid  for  us.  But  here  we  were  in  this  dark 
room  in  our  hunger,  waiting  for  marionettes 
whose  wires  for  aught  we  knew  were  broken. 


56  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress. 

She  became  penitent.  The  signorini  must 
forgive  her.  The  wires  were  not  broken,  but 
he  who  pulled  them  had  not  arrived.  There 
was  yet  time.  Would  we  not  go  and  dine 
and  then  come  back?  She  would  admit  us 
on  our  return. 

And  so  we  went  and  had  our  dinner,  well 
seasoned  with  polite  conversation.  The  ticket- 
agent  was  true  to  her  word.  When  we  re- 
appeared at  her  door,  the  curtain  was  pulled 
at  once.  In  the  mean  time  the  musicians  had 
been  suppressed,  not  only  out  of  hearing  but 
out  of  sight.  *  The  room  was  so  crowded  that 
many  who  had  arrived  during  our  absence 
were  standing.  Indeed,  there  must  have  been 
by  this  time  fully  five  francs  in  the  house.  All 
were  watching  with  entranced  eyes  the  move- 
ments of  four  or  five  puppets.  The  scene 
represented  an  interior  which,  I  suppose,  was 
that  of  the  prison  to  one  side  of  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs.  That  it  was  intended  for  a  cell  also 
seemed  evident,  because  the  one  portable  piece 
of  furniture  on  the  stage  was  a  low,  flat  couch 
of  a  shape  which  as  every  one  who  has  been 
to  the  theatre,  but  never  to  prison,  knows  is 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  57 

peculiar  to  the  latter.  It  was  impossible  to 
lose  sight  of  it,  as  the  dramatis  personce  made 
their  exits  and  entrances  over  it.  It  was  rather 
funny  to  see  the  villain  of  the  piece  after  an 
outbreak  of  passion,  or  an  elegant  long-haired 
page  in  crimson  clad,  after  a  gentlemanly 
speech,  suddenly  vault  over  it.  We  could  not 
discover  what  the  play  was  about.  Besides  the 
two  above-mentioned  characters  there  was  a 
puppet  with  a  large  red  face  and  green  coat 
and  trousers  who  gave  moral  tone  to  the  dia- 
logue, and  another  with  heavy  black  beard 
and  turban-like  head-dress  and  much  velvet 
and  lace  whom  we  took  to  be  a  person  of 
rank.  As  they  came  yi  and  out  by  turn,  it 
was  impossible  to  decide  which  was  the  pris- 
oner. With  the  exception  of  the  jumps  over 
the  couch,  there  was  little  action  in  the  per- 
formance. Its  only  two  noticeable  features  . 
were  —  first,  the  fact  that  villain,  page,  moralist, 
and  magnate  spoke  in  exactly  the  same  voice 
and  with  the  same  expression  ;  and,  secondly, 
that  they  had  an  irrepressible  tendency  to 
stand  in  the  air  rather  than  on  the  floor,  as 
if  they  had  borrowed  Mr.  Stockton's  negative- 


58  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

gravity  machine.  The  applause  and  laughter 
and  rapt  attention  of  the  audience  proved  the 
play  to  be  much  to  their  liking.  But  for  us 
inappreciative  foreigners  a  little  of  it  went  a 
great  way.  As  nothing  but  talk  came  of  all 
the  villany  and  moralizing  and  grandeur  and 
prettiness,  —  which  may  have  been  a  clever 
bit  of  realism  of  which  the  English  drama  is 
not  yet  capable,  —  and  as  there  was  no  ap- 
parent reason  why  the  dialogue  should  ever 
come  to  an  end,  we  went  away  after  the  next 
act.  The  ticket-seller  was  surprised  at  our 
sudden  change  from  eagerness  to  indifference, 
but  not  offended.  She  thanked  us  for  our 
patronage  and  wished  us  a  felice  notte. 

With  the  darkness  the  gayety  of  the  town 
had  increased.  In  the  large  theatre  a  play  was 
being  performed  by  a  company  of  amateurs. 
Having  had  tickets  given  us,  we  looked  in  for 
a  few  minutes,  but  found  it  as  wordy  as  that  of 
the  puppets.  In  a  neighboring  piazza  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  large  van,  like  those  to  be  seen  at 
country  fairs  at  home,  was  exhibiting  a  man, 
arrayed  in  a  suit  of  rubber,  with  a  large  brass 
helmet-like  arranirement   on   his  head,  who,  it 


Two  Pilgrims'   Progress,  59 

seemed,  could  live  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
along  with  Neptune  and  the  Naiads,  as  com- 
fortably as  on  dry  shore.  Ecco  !  There  was 
the  tank  within,  where  this  marvel  could  be 
seen,  —  a  human  being  living  under  the  water 
and  none  the  worse  for  it !  Admission  was 
four  soldi,  but  per  militari  e  ragazzi  ("  for  the 
military  and  children")  it  was  but  two!  So 
it  seems  that  the  soldiers  who  abroad  are  to 
strike  terror  into  the  enemy,  at  home  are 
ranked  with  the  young  of  the  land,  since 
like  them  their  name  is  legion !  There  were 
about  a  dozen  in  the  crowd,  and,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  sarcasm,  they  hurried  up  the  steps 
and  into  the  show,  while  an  old  man  ground 
out  of  a  hand-organ  the  appropriate  tune  of 
"  O,  que  faime  les  militaires  I  " 

But  dramas  and  shows  were  not  the  only 
Sunday-evening  amusements.  The  caffes  were 
crowded.  Judging  from  the  glimpses  we  had 
into  little  black,  cavern-like  wine-shops,  an- 
other Saint  Bernardino  is  needed  to  set 
makers  of  gaming-tools  in  Siena  to  the  manu- 
facture of  holier  articles.  And  more  than  once, 
as  we  walked  homewards  in  the  starlight,  we 


6o  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

heard  the  voices  of  the  three  minstrels  singing 
of  human  passion  in  the  streets  where  Cathe- 
rine so  often  preached  the  rapture  of  divine 
love.  If  swans  were  now  seen  in  visions  by 
fond  Sienese  matrons,  they  would  wing  their 
way  earthward  and  not  heavenward,  as  in  the 
days  when  Blessed  Bernardo's  mother  dreamed 
dreams. 


AN  ITALIAN   BY-ROAD. 

^^  And  the  name  of  the  going  up 
the  side  of  the  hill  is  called  Diffi,- 
cultyJ''' 

'"'' Is  not  the  place  dangerous? 
Hath  it  not  hindered  many  in  their 
pilgrimage  ?  " 

T  T  7E  left  Siena  the  morning  after  the  mario- 
^  '  nette  exhibition.  The  major,  when  he 
heard  at  breakfast  that  we  were  going,  asked 
us  point  blank  several  questions  about  Boston 
publishers,  his  book  probably  being  still  upper- 
most in  his  thoughts.  Later  he  sent  his  card 
to  our  room  to  know  at  what  hour  we  started ; 
he  wished  to  see  us  off.  The  young  lady  of 
architectural  proclivities  shook  hands  and  bade 
us  good-by,  saying  she  had  often  ridden  a 
sociable  with  her  cousin  in  England. 

After  all,  there  was  not  much  for  the  major 
to  see.  We  could  not  ride  through  the  streets, 
and  so  could  not  mount  the  machine  for  his 


62  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

benefit.  But  he  was  interested  in  watching 
us  strap  the  bags  to  the  luggage-carrier,  and 
pleased  because  of  this  opportunity  to  entertain 
us  with  more  American  reminiscences.  I  am 
afraid  his  amusement  in  Siena  was  small.  In 
return  for  the  little  we  gave  him  he  asked  us 
to  come  and  see  him  in  Rome,  where  he  would 
spend  the  winter,  and  added  that  if  we  ex- 
pected to  pass  through  Cortona  he  would  like 
to  write  a  card  of  introduction  for  us  to  a 
friend  of  his  there,  an  Italian  who  had  married 
an  English  lady.  Cortona  was  a  rough  place, 
and  we  might  be  glad  to  have  it.  He  had  for- 
gotten his  friend's  name,  but  he  would  run  up- 
stairs and  his  wife  could  tell  him.  In  a  minute 
he  returned  with  the  written  card.  We  have 
had  many  letters  of  introduction,  but  never 
one  as  singular  as  the  major-generals.  As 
he  knew  our  names  even  less  well  than  that  of 
his  Cortona  friends,  he  introduced  us  as  "  an 
American  lady  and  gentleman  riding  a  bi- 
cycle !  "  Only  fancy !  as  the  English  say.  Our 
parting  with  him  was  friendly.  Then  he  stood 
with  Luigi  and  Zara  until  we  disappeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  street. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  63 

What  a  ride  we  had  from  Siena  to  Buoncon- 
vento !  This  time  the  road  was  all  giu,  giu, 
giu.  It  was  one  long  coast  almost  all  the  way, 
and  we  made  the  most  of  it.  We  flew  by  mile- 
stone after  milestone.  Once  we  timed  our- 
selves :  we  made  a  mile  in  four  minutes.  The 
country  through  which  we  rode  was  sad  and 
desolate.  On  either  side  were  low  rolling  hills, 
bare  as  the  English  moors,  and  of  every  shade 
of  gray  and  brown  and  purple.  Here  rose  a 
hill  steeper  than  the  others,  with  a  black  cross 
on  its  summit ;  and  here,  one  crowned  with  a 
group  of  four  grim  cypresses.  Down  the  hill- 
sides were  deep  ruts  and  gullies,  with  only  an 
occasional  patch  of  green,  where  women  were 
watching  sheep  and  swine.  Once  we  came 
to  where  three  or  four  houses  were  gathered 
around  a  small  church,  but  they  were  as  deso- 
late as  the  land.  We  heard  voices  in  the  dis- 
tance, but  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  When 
on  a  short  stretch  of  level  road  we  stopped  to 
look  at  this  strange  gray  land,  the  grayer  be- 
cause dark  clouds  covered  the  sky,  we  saw  that 
above  the  barrenness  the  sun  shone  on  Siena, 
and  that  all  her  houses,  overtowered  by  the 


64  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

graceful  La  Mangia  and  the  tall  Duomo  Cam- 
panile, glistened  in  the  bright  light. 

About  five  miles  from  the  city  the  desolation 
was  somewhat  relieved,  for  there  were  hedges 
by  the  roadside,  and  beyond  sloping  olive- 
gardens  and  vineyards.  Poplars  grew  by  little 
streams  and  sometimes  we  rode  under  oaks. 
On  the  top  of  every  gray  hill,  giving  it  color, 
was  a  farm-house,  rows  of  brilliant  pumpkins 
laid  on  its  red  walls,  ears  of  yellow  corn  hung 
in  its  loggia,  and  gigantic  haystacks  standing 
close  by.  There  were  monasteries  too,  great 
square  brick  buildings  with  tall  towers,  and 
below  spire -like  cypresses.  But  between  the 
farms  and  fertile  fields  were  deep  ravines  and 
dry  beds  of  streams.  The  road  was  lonely. 
Now  and  then  flocks  of  birds  flew  down  in 
front  of  the  tricycle,  or  large  white  geese  came 
out  from  under  the  hedge  and  hissed  at  us. 
For  a  few  minutes  a  man  driving  a  donkey- 
cart  made  the  way  not  a  little  lively.  He  did 
not  see  us  until  we  wheeled  by  him.  Then 
he  jumped  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  "  Dio  I " 
he  exclaimed,  "  but  you  frightened  me  !  "  He 
laughed,  however,  and  whipping  up  his  donkey 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  65 

rattled  after  us  as  if  eager  for  a  race,  talking 
and  shouting  all  the  while  until  we  were  out  of 
hearing.  One  or  two  peasants  passed  in  straw 
chariot-shaped  wagons,  and  once  from  a  farm- 
house a  woman  in  red  blouse  and  yellow  apron, 
with  a  basket  on  her  head  and  a  dog  at  her 
heels,  came  towards  us.  It  was  in  this  same 
farm-house  we  met  a  Didymus.  We  stopped, 
as  we  had  a  way  of  doing  when  anything 
pleased  us,  and  he  came  out  to  have  a  better 
look  at  the  tramway.  And  how  far  did  we 
expect  to  go  to-day?  he  asked.  To  Monte 
Oliveto,  we  told  him,  for,  like  pious  pilgrims, 
we  thought  to  make  a  day's  retreat  with  the 
monks  there.  "  To  Monte  Oliveto !  and  in 
a  day,  and  on  that  machine ! "  and  he  laughed 
us  to  scorn.  "  In  a  week,  the  Signore  had  bet- 
ter say."  Later  a  stone-breaker's  belief  in  us 
made  some  amends  for  the  farmer's  contempt. 
We  were  riding  then.  "  Addio ! "  he  cried, 
even  before  we  reached  him. 

I  shall  always  remember  a  little  village 
through  which  we  rode  that  morning,  because 
it  was  there  we  saw  the  first  large  stone-pine 
growing   by   the    roadside,   which    showed    we 

5 


66  Two    Pilgrims    Progress. 

were  getting  farther  south,  and  because  of  the 
friendliness  of  a  peasant.  It  was  a  poor  place. 
The  people  were  ragged  and  squalid  and 
sickly,  as  if  the  gloom  of  the  hills  had  fallen 
upon  them.  We  asked  at  a  shop  for  a  lemon, 
but  there  was  not  one  to  be  had.  "  Wait," 
cried  a  woman  standing  close  by,  and  she  dis- 
appeared. She  returned  almost  immediately 
with  a  lemon  on  whose  stem  there  were  still 
fresh  green  leaves.  "  Ecco  ! "  she  said,  "  it  is 
from  my  garden."  "How  much  .^^ "  asked  J., 
as  she  handed  it  to  him.  "  Oh,  nothing,  sir," 
and  she  put  her  hands  behind  her  back.  We 
made  her  take  a  few  coppers,  for  the  children 
we  told  her.  As  far  as  it  lay  in  her  power  I 
think  she  was  as  courteous  as  those  rrien  in  a 
certain  Italian  town  who,  in  days  long  past, 
fought  together  for  the  stranger  who  came 
within  their  gates,  so  eager  were  they  all,  not 
to  cheat  him,  as  is  the  way  with  modern  land- 
lords, but  to  lodge  him  at  their  own  expense,  so 
that  there  were  no  inns  in  that  town. 

Before  we  reached  Buonconvento  the  sun 
came  out  and  the  clouds  rolled  away.  It  had 
rained  here  earlier  in  the  morning.     The  roads 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  67 

were  sticky  and  the  machine  ran  heavily,  and 
trees  and  hedges  were  wet  with  sparkling  rain- 
drops. There  is  an  imposing  entrance  to  the 
little  town,  a  pointed  bridge  over  a  narrow 
stream,  with  a  Madonna  and  Child  in  marble 
relief  at  the  highest  point,  an  avenue  of  tall 
poplars  with  marble  benches  set  between,  and 
then  the  heavy  brick  walls  blackened  with  age, 
and  the  gateway,  its  high  Gothic  arch  deco- 
rated with  the  old  Sienese  wolf  and  a  more 
recent  crop  of  weeds. 

We  rode  from  one  end  to  the  other,  —  a 
two  minutes'  ride,  —  without  finding  a  trattoria. 
At  length  we  appealed  to  the  crowd.  Where 
was  the  trattoria  ?  No  one  understood  ;  and 
yet  that  very  morning  J.  had  been  asked  if 
he  were  not  a  Florentine  !  Perhaps  monsieur 
speaks  French  ?  and  a  little  Frenchman  in 
seedy  clothes  jauntily  worn,  and  with  an  in- 
describable swagger,  came  forward,  hat  in 
hand.  The  effect  of  his  coming  was  magical. 
For  unknown  reasons,  when  it  was  found  that 
J.  could  speak  French  after  a  fashion,  his 
Italian  was  all-sufiicient.  The  inn  was  here ; 
we  were  directly  in  front  of  it,  and  the  padrone. 


68  Two   Pilo^rims    Progress. 

who  had  been  at  our  elbows  all  the  time,  led 
the  way  into  it.  The  Frenchman  gallantly 
saw  us  through  the  crowd  to  the  room  where 
we  were  to  dine.  It  was  the  best  trattoria  in 
the  place,  but  poor  enough,  he  said.  Such 
bread  and  cheese  !  horrible  !  and  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  raised  his  hands  to  heaven 
in  testimony  thereof.  He  did  not  live  in 
Buonconvento,  not  he.  He  came  from  Paris. 
Then  he  complimented  J.  on  his  Italian,  to 
make  up  in  some  measure  for  the  failure  of 
the  people  to  appreciate  it,  and  with  a  bow 
that  might  have  won  him  favor  at  court,  and  a 
"  I  salute  you,  monsieur  and  madanie','  he 
politely  left  us  before  our  dinner  was  served. 
He  was  a  strolling  actor,  the  padrone  said ; 
he  and  his  troupe  would  give  a  performance  in 
the  evening. 

The  fact  that  we  were  going  to  Monte 
Oliveto  annoyed  the  padrone.  The  monastery 
is  a  too  successful  rival  to  his  inn.  Few 
travellers,  except  those  who  are  on  their  way 
to  Monte  Oliveto,  pass  through  his  town,  and 
few  who  can  help  it  stay  there  over  night. 
His  list  of  the  evils  we  should  have  to  endure 


Chiusure. 

Fa;re  68 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  69 

was  the  sauce  with  which  he  served  our  beef- 
steak and  potatoes.  We  must  leave  the  post 
road  for  one  that  was  stony  and  steep.  Our 
velocipede  could  not  be  worked  over  it.  It 
would  take  hours  to  reach  the  monastery,  and 
we  had  better  not  be  out  after  dark,  for  there 
were  dangers  untold  by  the  way.  But  when 
he  had  said  the  worst  he  became  cheerful,  and 
even  seemed  pleased  when  we  admired  his 
kitchen,  where  brass  and  copper  pots  and  pans 
hung  on  the  walls,  and  where  in  one  corner 
was  a  large  fireplace  with  comfortable  seats 
above  and  a  pigeon-house  underneath.  But 
when  we  complimented  him  on  the  walls  of 
his  town,  Bah !  he  exclaimed,  of  what  use  were 
they  ?  They  were  half  destroyed.  They  would 
be  no  defence  in  war-times. 

He  was  right.  The  walls,  strong  by  the 
gate,  have  in  parts  entirely  disappeared,  and 
in  others,  houses  and  stables  have  been  made 
of  them.  It  is  on  the  open  space  by  these 
houses  that  the  men  have  their  playground. 
They  were  all  there  when  we  arrived,  and  still 
there  when  we  left.  Young  men,  others  old 
enough  to  be  their  fathers,  and  boys  were,  each 


70  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

in  turn,  holding  up  balls  to  their  noses,  and 
then,  with  a  long  slide  and  backward  twist  of 
the  arm,  rolling  them  along  the  ground,  which 
is  the  way  Italians  play  bowls. 

Before  the  afternoon  was  over  we  cursed  in 
our  hearts  the  Tuscan  politeness  we  had  here- 
tofore praised.  About  a  mile  from  Buoncon- 
vento  the  road  to  Monte  Oliveto  divided.  We 
turned  to  the  right.  But  two  peasants  with 
ox-teams  called  out  from  below  that  we  must 
not  go  that  way.  It  was  all  bad.  But  to 
the  left  it  was  good,  and  piano,  ascending 
but  gently,  and  we  had  much  better  take  it. 
In  an  evil  moment  we  did.  That  it  ill  be- 
hooves a  wise  man  to  seek  counsel  in  every 
word  spoken  to  him,  we  found  to  our  cost.  In 
the  first  place  the  ascent  was  not  gentle,  —  we 
had  not  then  learned  that  an  Italian  calls  every 
hill  that  is  not  as  straight  up  and  down  as  the 
side  of  a  house,  piano,  —  and  in  the  second 
place  the  road  was  not  good,  but  vilely  bad. 
Unfortunately,  for  half  a  mile  or  perhaps  more 
it  was  fair  enough.  But  when  we  had  gone 
just  so  far  that  we  were  unwilling  to  turn  back 
we  discovered  our  mistake.     The  road  we  had 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  71 

not  taken  was  that  built  by  the  monks  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago  ;  we  had  chosen  the  new 
and  not  yet  finished  by-way.  It  was  heavy 
with  dust  and  dirt,  and  fiiU  of  ruts  and  loose 
stones.  Over  it  we  could  not  ride  or  even 
push  the  tricycle  without  difficulty.  It  was 
in  keeping,  however,  with  the  abomination  of 
desolation  lying  to  each  side.  For  we  were 
now  in  a  veritable  wilderness,  a  land  of  deserts 
and  of  pits,  where  few  men  dwell.  All  around 
us  .were  naked,  colorless  chalk-hills,  abrupt 
precipices  and  ravines.  A  few  chestnut-trees, 
a  rose-bush  covered  with  red  berries  growing 
from  the  gray  earth,  were  the  only  green  things 
we  passed  for  miles.  It  was  weary  and  slow 
work,  and  the  sun  was  low  on  the  hill-tops 
before  we  came  to  the  point  where  the  two 
roads  met.  At  some  distance  above  us  we  saw 
a  large  red  building  surrounded  by  cypresses, 
and  we  knew  this  must  be  Monte  Oliveto 
Maggiore.     So  we  took  heart  again. 

But  our  trouble  was  not  over.  The  road 
was  better  only  by  comparison,  and  it  was  still 
impossible  to  ride,  and  hard  work  to  push  or 
pull  the  tricycle.     It  was  built  of  bricks,  which 


72  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

lay  as  if  they  had  been  carelessly  shot  out  of  a 
cart  and  left  where  and  how  they  fell.  A  little 
farther  on  it  divided  again.  A  woman  was 
walking  towards  us,  and  J.  asked  her  which 
was  the  road  to  the  convent  (//  conventd). 
"  You  must  go  back,"  she  said ;  "  it  lies  miles 
below,  —  Buonconvento."  "  These  peasants  are 
fools,"  said  J.  in  angry  English  to  her  very 
face ;  but  she,  all  unconscious,  smiled  upon  us. 
We  w^ent  to  the  left,  which  fortunately  was  just 
what  we  ought  to  have  done.  But  it  was  pro- 
voking that  instead  of  getting  nearer  to  the 
monastery,  we  seemed  to  be  going  farther  from 
it.  With  one  turn  of  the  road  it  appeared  to 
be  above,  and  with  the  next  below  us.  Now  it 
was  on  one  side  and  now  on  the  other,  until  I 
began  to  feel  as  if  we  were  the  answer  to  the 
riddle  I  had  so  often  been  asked  in  my  child- 
hood, the  mysterious  "  What  is  it  that  goes 
round  and  round  the  house  and  never  gets  in.?" 
Soon  the  sun  set  behind  the  hills,  and  the  sky 
grew  soft  and  golden.  We  met  several  peas- 
ants bearing  large  bundles  of  twigs  on  their 
heads.  There  were  one  or  two  shrines,  a 
chapel,  and  a  farm-house  in  front  of  which  a 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  73 

priest  stood  talking  to  a  woman.  But  on  we 
went  without  resting,  J.  pushing  the  ma- 
chine and  I  walking  behind,  womanlike  shirk- 
ing my  share  of  the  work.  The  road  grew 
worse  until  it  became  nothing  but  a  mass  of 
ruts  and  gullies  washed  out  by  the  rain,  and 
led  to  a  hill  from  which  even  Christian  would 
have  turned  and  fled.  But  we  struggled  up, 
reaching  the  top  to  see  the  gate  of  the  mon- 
astery some  sixty  or  seventy  feet  below.  Finally 
we  came  to  the  great  brick  gateway  which  in 
the  dull  light  —  for  by  this  time  the  color  had 
faded  from  the  sky  —  rose  before  us  a  heavy 
black  pile,  beyond  whose  archway  we  saw  only 
shadow  and  mystery.  As  we  walked  under  it 
our  voices,  when  we  spoke,  sounded  unnatural 
and  hollow.  On  the  other  side  the  road  wound 
through  a  gloomy  grove  of  cypresses,  growing 
so  close  together  that  they  hedged  us  about 
with  impenetrable  darkness.  Once  several 
silent  figures,  moving  noiselessly,  passed  by. 
Had  we,  by  mischance,  wandered  into  a  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death  ? 

The  cypress   grove,  after  several   windings, 
brought  us  face  to  face  with   the  building  at 


74  Tico   Pilgrims    Progress. 

which  we  had  already  so  often  looked  from  the 
distance.  Even  in  the  semi-darkness  we  could 
see  the  outline  distinctly  enough  to  know  we 
were  standing  in  front  of  the  church,  and  that 
the  detached  building  a  little  to  our  left  was 
a  barn  or  stable.  But  not  a  light  shone  in  a 
window,  not  a  doorway  was  in  sight.  I  recalled 
my  convent  experience  of  bygone  years,  and 
remembered  that  after  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening  no  one  was  admitted  within  its  walls. 
Was  there  a  rule  like  this  at  Monte  Oliveto, 
and  .was  six  the  hour  when  its  bolts  and  bars 
were  fastened  against  the  stranger?  As  we 
hesitated  where  to  go  or  what  to  do  next, 
three  or  four  workmen  came  from  the  stable. 
J.  spoke  to  them,  and  one  offered  to  show  him 
the  entrance  to  the  monastery  while  I  waited 
by  the  tricycle.  It  was  strange  to  stand  in  the 
late  evening  and  in  the  wilderness  alone,  with 
men  whose  speech  I  barely  understood  and 
whose  faces  I  could  not  see.  For  fully  five 
minutes  I  waited  thus  while  they  talked  to- 
gether in  low  voices.  But  at  last  I  heard 
one  cry,  Ecco  I  here  was  ihe  padrofie ;  and  they 
all   took  off  their  hats.      A   dog   ran  up  and 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  75 

examined  me,  and  then  a  man,  who  I  could  just 
make  out  in  the  gloom,  wore  a  cassock  and  the 
broad-brimmed  priestly  hat,  joined  the  group. 
'' Buona  sera''  he  said  to  me. 

Could  I  speak  to  him  in  French,  I  asked. 
Yes,  he  assented,  what  was  it  I  wanted  ? 
When  I  told  him  w^e  wished  to  stay  in  the 
monastery,  he  said  he  had  not  expected  us. 
We  had  not  written. 

"  But,"  I  exclaimed,  "  we  thought  strangers 
were  allowed  to  stay  here." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered ;  "  there  is  a  pension  in 
the  monastery,  but  it  is  for  artists." 

"  And  my  husband  is  an  artist,"  I  interrupted 
eagerly,  for  from  his  manner  I  feared  he  would 
refuse  us  admission.  After  all,  what  did  he 
know  about  us  except  that,  vagrant-like,  we 
were  wandering  in  the  mountains  at  a  most 
unseasonable  hour }  Indeed,  when  later  I 
reflected  on  the  situation,  I  realized  that  we 
must  have  seemed  suspicious  characters.  At 
this  critical  moment  J.  returned.  His  guide 
had  led  him  to  a  small  side-door  beyond  the 
church.  There  he  rang  and  rang  again.  The 
bell   was   loud    and    clear,   and    roused   many 


76  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

echoes  within,  but  nothing  else.  The  guide, 
perplexed,  then  led  him  back.  I  told  him 
with  whom  I  was  speaking,  and  he  continued 
the  conversation  with  the  padrone.  Had  they 
talked  in  Italian  only,  or  in  French,  they  might 
have  understood  each  other;  but  instead  they 
used  a  strange  mixture  of  the  two,  to  their 
mutual  bewilderment.  If  this  kept  on  much 
longer  we  should  undoubtedly  spend  the  night 
in  the  open  air.  In  despair  I  broke  in  in 
French  :  "  But,  my  father,  cannot  we  stay  this 
one  night  '^.  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  fortunately  dropping 
all  Italian.  "  That  is  what  I  was  explaining 
to  monsieur.  You  can  stay,  but  of  course  we 
have  nothing  prepared.     We  will  do  our  best." 

If  he  had  said  he  would  do  his  worst,  pro- 
vided we  were  rid  of  the  tricycle  for  the  night, 
and  were  ourselves  taken  indoors  where  we 
might  sit  down,  we  should  have  been  thankful. 

The  bags  were  unstrapped  and  given  into 
the  care  of  one  of  the  men,  a  place  was  made 
for  the  machine  in  the  stable,  and  then  we  fol- 
lowed the  padrone  or  Abate  —  for  this  was  his 
real    title  —  to   the  door  where   J.   had    rung 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  77 

in  vain,  and  which  he  opened  with  his  key. 
Within  it  was  so  dark  that  we  groped  our  way 
through  a  hall  and  a  small  cloister.  Then  we 
came  to  a  flight  of  steps,  where  at  the  bidding 
of  the  Abate,  as  if  to  reassure  us  that  we  were 
not  being  led  to  secret  cells  or  torture-cham- 
bers, the  man  carrying  our  bags  struck  a  soli- 
tary match.  By  this  feeble  light  we  walked 
up  the  broad  stone  stairs  and  through  many 
passage-ways,  not  a  sound  breaking  the  still- 
ness but  our  foot-falls  and  their  loud  echoes,  to  a 
door  where  the  Abate  left  us,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  match  burnt  out.  But  the  next  min- 
ute he  reappeared  with  a  lighted  taper,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  hall  opened  another  door,  lit  a 
lamp  on  a  table  within,  and  showed  us  four 
rooms,  which  he  said  were  at  our  disposal. 
The  beds  were  not  made,  but  they  would  be 
attended  to  immediately.  He  had  now  to  say 
Office,  but  at  nine  supper  would  be  served. 
Here  was  a  very  comfortable  solution  to  the 
mystery  into  which  the  massive  gateway 
seemed  to  lead.  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 
of  Death  had  turned  out  to  be  a  Delectable 
Land! 


78  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

It  was  still  more  comfortable  later,  when,  his 
Office  said,  the  Abate  came  back  and  sat  and 
talked  with  us.  Now  he  could  examine  us  by 
a  better  light  I  think  he  concluded  we  were 
not  dangerous  characters,  probably  only  harm- 
less lunatics.  However  that  may  be,  after  half 
an  hour,  when  the  supper-bell  rang  and  we 
started  off  for  the  refectory,  again  by  the  light 
of  his  taper,  we  were  the  best  of  friends.  The 
long  corridor,  thus  dimly  seen,  seemed  inter- 
minable. We  went  down  one  stairway  to  find 
the  door  locked  against  us,  then  up  and  down 
another.  Here  the  light  went  out,  leaving  us 
in  a  darkness  like  unto  that  of  Egypt.  The 
Abate  laughed  as  if  it  were  the  best  of  jokes. 
He  took  J.'s  hand  and  J.  took  mine,  and 
thus  like  three  children  we  went  laughing 
down  the  stairway  and  along  more  passages, 
and  at  last  into  a  long  refectory,  at  the  farther 
end  of  which  was  a  lamp,  while  a  door  to  one 
side  of  that  by  which  we  entered  opened,  and  a 
second  monk  in  white  robes,  holding  a  lighted 
taper,  came  in,  and  when  he  saw  us  made  a  low 
bow.  As  there  were  no  other  visitors,  we  were 
to  eat  with    him  and    his   brother  monk,  the 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  79 

Abate  said ;  and  then  he  gave  me  the  head  of 
the  table,  asking  me  if  I  were  willing  to  be  the 
Lady  Abbess. 

If  we  had  been  two  prodigals  he  could  not 
have  been  kinder  than  he  was  now  he  had 
given  us  shelter.  If  we  had  been  starving  like 
the  hero  of  the  parable,  he  could  not  have  been 
more  anxious  to  set  before  us  a  feast  of  plenty. 
Nor  would  any  fatted  calf  have  been  more  to 
our  taste  than  the  substantial  supper  prepared 
for  us.  We  must  eat,  he  said ;  we  needed  it. 
He  had  seen  us  coming  up  the  hill  as  he 
talked  with  a  peasant  by  the  roadside ;  but 
monsieur  was  push-pushing  the  velocipede  and 
looking  at  nothing  else,  and  madame  was  pant- 
ing and  swinging  her  arms,  staring  straight  in 
front  of  her,  and  before  he  had  time,  we  had 
passed.  We  must  drink  too ;  the  wine  was 
good  for  us.  We  must  not  mix  water  with  it ; 
it  was  Christian,  why  then  should  it  be  bap- 
tized ?  The  white-robed  brother  spoke  little, 
but  he  never  allowed  J.'s  plate  to  remain  empty. 
When  the  meat  w^as  brought  in  we  were  joined 
by  Pirro,  a  good-sized  dog  with  no  tail  to  speak 
of,  and  Lupo,  an  unusually  large  cat,  and  his 


8o  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

numerous  family,  who  all  had  to  be  fed  at  inter- 
vals. But  even  while  Pirro  jumped  nimbly 
into  the  air  after  pieces  of  bread  thrown  to  him, 
and  Lupo  scratched,  and  his  progeny  made 
mournful  appeals  to  be  remembered,  and  we 
talked,  I  looked  every  now  and  then  down  the 
long  narrow  table  to  where  it  was  lost  in  deep 
shadow.  The  cloth  was  laid  its  entire  length, 
as  if  in  readiness  for  the  banished  brothers 
whenever  they  might  return.  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised  then  to  see  the  door  open 
to  admit  a  procession  of  white-robed  monks, 
all  with  tapers  in  their  hands. 

The  Abate  must  have  realized  that  to  a 
stranger  there  was  something  uncanny  in  his 
dark,  silent,  deserted  monastery,  and  his  last 
word  as  he  bade  us  good-night  was,  that  we 
were  to  fear  nothing,  and'  sleep  in  peace. 


To 
THE    ABATE    DI    NEGRO, 

Of  Monte  Oliveto  Maggiore, 

We  would  say  a  Word  of  Thanks  for  the  Golden  Days 

passed  in  his  House  Beautiful, 

and  for 

The  Great  Kindnesses  show?t  us '  in  our  farther 

journeying. 


MONTE  OLIVETO. 

"  Biit^  oh^  what  a  favor  is  this 
to  me^  that  yet  I  am  admitted  en- 
trance here  I " 

''''But  they  are  to  me  golden 
hours  in  which  such  things  hap- 
pen to  me.'''' 

T^HE  days  we  spent  at  Monte  Oliveto  were 
"^  golden  days.  For  we  not  only  slept 
there  one,  but  several  nights,  and  the  Abate 
declared  we  could  remain  as  long  as  we  might 
care  to.  Nothing  could  be  more  melancholy 
and  wild  than  the  country  into  which  we  had 
come.  It  is  the  most  desolate  part  of  all  that 
strange  desolation  which  lies  to  the  southeast 
of  Siena.  The  mountain  on  which  the  monas- 
tery is  built  is  surrounded  on  every  side  but 
one  by  deep,  abrupt  ravines.  Behind  it  rise 
higher  mountains,  bare  and  bleak  and  gray, 
like  gigantic  ash-piles,  and  on  the  very  highest 
peak  is  the  wretched  little  village  of  Chiusure. 

6 


82  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

The  other  hills  around  are  lower,  and  from  the 
road  by  the  convent  gateway  one  can  see 
Siena,  pale  and  blue  on  the  horizon,  and  south- 
ward, over  the  barren  hill-tops,  Monte  Amiata. 
But  Monte  Oliveto,  with  its  gardens  and  or- 
chards and  vineyards,  is  a  green  place  in  the 
midst  of  the  barrenness.  The  mountain-sides 
are  terraced,  and  olives  and  vines  grow  almost 
to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  It  was  said  in  old 
times  that  the  Bishop  of  Arezzo  was  com- 
manded in  a  vision  to  call  the  monastery  after 
the  Mount  in  Jerusalem.  Now-a-days  sceptics 
say  the  trees  on  the  terraces  explain  the  name, 
forgetting  that  in  its  beginning  this  hill  was  as 
bare  as  the  others.  Why  cannot  it  be  believed, 
for  the  legend's  sake,  that  the  oliv^es  were 
planted  afterwards  because  of  the  namcf* 

The  first  morning,  the  Abate  took  us  to  see 
the  frescos  representing  the  life  of  Saint  Bene- 
dict, painted  on  the  walls  of  the  large  cloister. 
I  will  be  honest,  and  confess  that  they  disap- 
pointed us.  I  doubt  whether  the  artists  were 
very  proud  of  them.  Luca  Signorelli,  before 
he  had  finished  the  first  side  of  the  cloister, 
gave  up  the  work,  as  it  is  not  likely  he  would 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  83 

have  done  had  he  cared  much  for  it.  Sodoma, 
when  he  took  his  place,  was  at  first  so  careless 
that  the  then  abbot  took  him  to  task,  but  the 
artist  calmly  told  him  more  could  not  be  ex- 
pected for  the  price  that  was  paid  him.  Cer- 
tainly with  neither  were  these  frescos  a  labor 
of  love,  and  this  one  feels  at  once.  One  won- 
ders if  this  could  have  been  the  same  Sodoma 
who  painted  the  Saint  Sebastian  in  Florence, 
and  yet  there  is  more  charm  in  his  pictures  than 
in  those  of  SignorelH.  But  what  we  cared  for 
most  were  his  portraits  of  himself,  with  heavy 
hair  hanging  about  his  face,  and  wearing  the 
cloak  the  Milanese  gentleman,  turned  monk, 
had  given  him,  and  of  his  wife  and  child ;  and 
the  pictures  of  the  raven  and  the  other  pets 
he  brought  with  him  to  the  monastery,  to  the 
wonder  of  the  good  monks.  It  is  a  pity  every 
one  cannot  look  at  these  frescos  with  such 
loving,  reverential  eyes  as  the  Abate.  He  had 
shown  them  probably  to  hundreds  of  visitors ; 
he  had  seen  them  almost  every  day  for  the 
many  years  he  had  been  at  Monte  Oliveto ; 
but  his  pleasure  in  them  was  as  fresh  as  if  it 
dated  but  from  yesterday.     He  told  the  story 


84  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

of  each  in  turn,  —  of  how  in  this  one  the  great 
Saint  Benedict  had  set  the  devil  to  flight,  and 
how  in  that  he  had  by  a  miracle  recalled  an 
erring  brother ;  and  once  he  pointed  to  a  palm- 
tree  in  a  background.  Sodoma,  he  said,  had 
seen  and  admired  a  palm  in  the  garden  of  the 
monastery,  and  so,  after  his  realistic  fashion, 
had  painted  it  in  just  as  he  had  his  pets.  That 
very  tree  was  in  the  garden  still ;  he  would 
show  it  to  us  if  we  liked. 

There  never  was  such  another  garden !  It 
is  close  to  the  large  brick  house  or  palace  by 
the  gateway,  where  in  old  times  lay  visitors 
were  lodged,  and  beyond  which  no  woman  was 
ever  allowed  to  pass.  It  is  small,  but  in  it  the 
monks  only  raised  the  rarest  trees  and  plants. 
Here  grew  the  precious  herbs  out  of  which 
in  the  pharmacy,  whose  windows  overlook  the 
quiet  green  enclosure,  they  prepared  the  healing 
draughts  for  which  people  came  from  far  and 
near.  The  pharmacy  is  closed  now.  There 
is  dust  in  the  corners  and  on  the  quaint  old 
chairs.  Cobwebs  hang  from  the  ceiling.  But 
brass  scales  are  still  on  the  heavy  wooden 
counter,  and  pestle  and  mortar  beliind  it,  and 


6  ^ 

> 

O 

O 


Tzvo   Pilgrims    Progress.  85 

glass  retorts  of  strange  shapes  in  the  corners 
and  above  the  doors.  Majolica  jars  all  marked 
with  the  three  mountains,  the  cross,  and  the 
olive-branch,  —  the  stemma  of  the  monastic  or- 
der,—  are  ranged  on  the  brown  shelves,  many 
of  the  large  ones  carefully  sealed,  w^hile  from 
the  smaller  come  forth  strange  odors  of  myrrh 
and  incense  and  rare  ointments.  As  in  the 
refectory,  everything  here  is  in  order  for  the 
monks  when  they  return.  But  they  will  find 
more  change  in  the  garden  below.  The  rare 
plants,  the  ebony  and  the  hyssop,  the  cactuses 
and  the  palm  (which  made  us  think  less  of 
Sodoma's  frescos  than  we  had  before),  the 
pomegranates  and  the  artichokes,  are  all  there. 
But  weeds  grow  in  the  paths,  and  by  the  old 
gray  well,  and  in  among  the  herbs ;  roses 
have  run  riot  in  the  centre  of  the  garden  and 
turned  it  into  a  wild  tangled  growth.  To  us 
it  seemed  the  loveliest  spot  in  Monte  Oliveto. 
The  hours  spent  in  it  were  like  a  beautiful 
idyl  of  Theocritus  or  Shelley.  The  sun  shone 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  sweet  spicy  scents. 
To  one  side  was  the  gray  mountain,  to  the 
other  dense  cypresses,  and  above  a  blue,  cloud- 


86  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

less  sky.  The  roses  were  still  in  bloom,  and 
as  we  lingered  there,  the  Abate  went  from 
bush  to  bush  and  picked  for  me  a  large  bunch 
of  fragrant  buds.  I  hope  if  the  monks  ever 
do  come  back  that,  while  they  throw  open  the 
windows  of  the  pharmacy  and  let  the  light 
in  again  upon  the  majolica  and  the  dark  wood- 
work, they  will  leave  the  gates  of  the  garden 
locked.  It  is  fairer  in  its  confusion  than  it 
ever  could  be  with  weeded  paths  and  well- 
clipped  bushes. 

The  Abate  took  us  everywhere,  —  through 
the  empty  guest-chambers  of  the  palace  to  the 
tower,  now  a  home  for  pigeons,  from  the  top 
of  which  one  has  a  wide  view  of  the  country, 
which  with  its  squares  of  olives  and  its  gray 
hills  and  fields  marked  by  deep  furrows,  as  if 
by  boundary  lines,  looks  like  a  large  map  or 
geological  chart,  —  through  the  monastery,  with 
its  three  hundred  rooms  with  now  but  three 
monks  to  occupy  them ;  its  cloisters,  for  there 
are  two  besides  the  larc^e  frescoed  one ;  its 
loggie,  where  geraniums  and  other  green  plants 
were  growing;  its  great  refectory,  beyond  the 
door  of  which  fowl  or  flesh  meat  never  passed, 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  87 

and  which  is  now  used  no  longer;  and  its 
library,  at  the  very  top  of  the  house,  where 
rows  of  white  vellum  volumes  are  ready  for  the 
students  who  so  seldom  come.  Then  he  led 
us  to  the  church,  where  there  are  more  altars 
than  monks  to  pray  before  them,  and  a  won- 
derful choir  with  inlaid  stalls ;  and  in  and  out 
of  little  chapels,  one  of  which  contains  the 
grotto  where  blessed  Bernardo  Tolomei,  the 
founder  of  the  order,  lived  for  many  years  after 
he  came  to  the  wilderness,  while  another  was 
the  first  church  used  by  the  brotherhood,  and 
the  Virgin  with  angels  playing  to  her  on  harps 
and  mandolins,  above  the  altar,  was  painted 
long  before  Signorelli  and  Sodoma  began  their 
work.  Then  there  was  the  lemon-grove  to  be 
seen,  where  the  Abate  filled  our  pockets  with 
the  ripe  fruit  which  we  were  to  keep,  he  said, 
in  case  we  might  be  thirsty  on  the  road  some 
da}^  when  there  was  no  wine  or  water  near  by 
to  drink.  And  after  that  there  was  still  to  be 
visited  the  wine-press,  with  its  deep  shadows 
and  dark  corners  and  long  subterranean  pas- 
sage to  the  room  below,  where  men  were  filling 
small  casks  from  large  butts,  and  then  carrying 


88  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

them  off  on  their  shoulders  to  be  weighed 
and  stored  above.  We  had  to  taste  the  wine, 
and  I  think  it,  together  with  the  sunshine  and 
the  flowers,  must  have  gone  to  our  heads  that 
morning  and  stayed  there  so  long  as  we  were  at 
Monte  Oliveto,  for  everything  about  us  seemed 
to  belong  less  to  the  actual  world  than  to  a 
dreamland  full  of  wonder  and  beauty,  and 
sometimes  of  pathos. 

It  was  the  same  in  the  afternoon,  when  the 
Abate  had  gone  about  his  work,  —  for  he  is  a 
busy  man,  like  the  centurion  with  many  under 
him,  —  and  J.  and  I  wandered  alone  over  the 
gray  hills  up  to  Chiusure.  Life  with  its  hard- 
ships must  be  real  enough  to  the  people  of 
this  little  village,  in  which  seeds  of  pestilence 
sown  hundreds  of  years  ago  still  bear  the  bitter 
fruit  of  wretchedness.  It  seems  as  if  the  brick 
walls  which  could  not  keep  out  the  plague 
have  ever  since  successfully  barred  the  way  to 
all  prosperity,  for  generation  after  generation 
is  born  within  them  but  to  live  and  die  in 
poverty.  We  saw  melancholy  figures  there,  — 
old  hags  of  women,  with  thin  white  hair  and 
bent   almost   double   under   heavy  bundles  of 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  89 

wood,  toiling  up  steep  stony  streets  with  bare 
feet,  and  others  crouching  in  the  gloom  oppo- 
site open  doorways.  Even  the  little  priest, 
who,  in  his  knee-breeches  and  long  frock-coat 
and  braided  smoking-cap  with  tassels  dangling 
in  his  eyes,  was  humorous  enough  to  look  at, 
was  pathetic  in  his  way.  For  after  he  had 
shown  us  his  church  with  its  decorations,  poor 
as  the  people  who  worship  in  it,  and  offered  us 
a  glass  of  wine  in  his  own  parlor,  he  spread  on 
the  table  before  us  some  broken  pieces  of  glass 
easily  put  together,  on  which  a  picture  was 
painted.  Was  it  of  value  }  he  asked,  so  eagerly 
that  he  told  without  further  words  the  story  of 
wants  but  ill  supplied.  He  was  willing  to  sell 
it,  but  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  worth. 
Could  we  tell  him?  No,  we  could  not,  we  said, 
for  we  really  knew  nothing  about  it,  though  we 
feared  the  hopes  he  had  set  upon  it  would 
never  be  realized.  And  then  sadly  he  gathered 
together  the  pieces  and  put  them  away  again 
in  their  newspaper  wrapping. 

It  was  more  cheerful  outside  the  gateway. 
There,  in  the  late  afternoon,  the  gray  olives  by 
the  way  were  more  clearly  defined  against  the 


90  Tzvo   Pilgrims    Progress. 

sky,  and  the  gray  ravines  below  more  indistinct. 
Beyond,  the  hills,  now  all  purple  and  soft,  rolled 
away  to  the  horizon  and  to  the  brilliant  red 
sky  above.  One  or  two  lights  were  lit  in  dis- 
tant farm-houses,  and  once  we  heard  a  far-off 
bell.  Before  us  the  white  road  led  by  one 
green  hill  on  whose  top  was  a  circle  of  cy- 
presses, and  in  its  centre  a  black  cross,  as  in 
so  many  old  pictures. 

But  the  strangest  part  of  this  dream-life  was 
the  friendship  that  sprung  up  between  us  and 
the  monks.  I  should  not  have  been  more  sur- 
prised if  Saint  Benedict  and  Blessed  Bernardo 
had  come  back  to  earth  to  make  friends  with 
us.  It  was  not  only  that  the  Abate  acted  as 
our  guide  through  the  monastery,  —  this  he 
does  for  every  visitor  who  comes,  since  the 
Government  took  possession  of  it  and  turned 
it  into  a  public  art-gallery  and  pension  for 
artists,  —  but  he  came  to  our  room  early  in  the 
morning  to  drink  his  coffee  with  us,  and  in  the 
evening,  after  he  had  said  his  Office,  for  a  little 
talk.  And  when  we  had  finished  our  supper 
we  sat  together  long  over  our  wine,  talking 
now  in  French,  now  in  English,  now  in  Italian, 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  91 

and  occasionally  understanding  each  other. 
Like  all  good  fellows,  we  too  had  our  jokes. 
But  the  Abates  favorite  was  to  tell  how  he  had 
seen  us  coming  up  the  mountain,  monsieur 
push-pushing  the  velocipede  and  madame  puff- 
puffing  behind  him.  Even  Dom  Giuseppe, 
the  other  monk,  —  the  third  was  away,  —  re- 
laxed from  the  dignity  with  which  he  had  first 
met  us,  and  took  part  in  the  talk  and  the 
laughter.  Unreal  as  seemed  these  late  suppers 
in  the  long  refectory  in  the  dim  light,  with 
Pirro  forever  jumping  after  choice  morsels, 
while  Lupo  and  his  family  growled  with  rage 
and  envy  from  under  the  table,  we  strayed  even 
farther  into  Wonderland  the  second  day  after 
our  arrival,  when  both  monks  went  out  for  a 
ride  on  the  tricycle  along  the  mulberry  walk 
and  by  Blessed  Bernardo's  grotto. 

The  last  day  of  our  stay  a  number  of  visitors 
arrived,  —  a  priest  from  Perugia,  two  nuns,  and 
two  English  ladies.  They  were  not  expected, 
and  dinner  had  to  be  prepared  for  them.  The 
Abate  is  never  pleased  when  guests  come  with- 
out giving  him  warning.  When  we  met  him 
in  the  refectory  a  little  after  twelve,  we  could 


92  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

see  his  patience  had  been  tried.  We  must  par- 
don him  for  being  late,  he  said,  but  he  had  had 
to  find  something  to  eat  for  all  these  people. 
Were  they  to  dine  with  us?  we  asked.  No, 
indeed,  was  his  answer ;  they  were  not  mem- 
bers of  the  community.  This  confirmed  our 
doubts  as  to  whether  we  might  not  be  monks 
without  knowing  it;  for  the  first  morning  the 
Abate  had  given  us  a  key  of  the  great  front 
door  by  which  we  could  let  ourselves  in  at  all 
hours,  without  any  ringing  of  bells  or  calling 
of  porters ;  so  that  we  felt  as  if  we  belonged  to 
the  convent.  These  visitors  were  the  thorns 
in  his  present  life,  the  Abate  continued,  and  we 
were  his  roses.  Then  he  brought  out  a  bot- 
tle of  the  vino  santo  which  he  makes  himself 
and  prizes  so  highly  that  he  never  sells  it  as 
he  does  the  other  wines,  and  a  plate  of  grapes 
for  which  he  had  sent  a  great  distance.  And 
when  dinner  was  over  he  bade  the  servant  put 
all  that  was  left  of  grapes  and  wine  away. 
They  were  for  the  community,  and  not  for 
common  folk.  He  introduced  us  to  the  Pe- 
rugian  priest,  who  might  possibly,  he  said,  be 
of  use  to   us  in   Perugia.      The  latter  almost 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  93 

embraced  J.  in  his  protestations  of  good-will, 
and  came  running  back  several  times  to  press 
his  hand,  and  say  in  a  French  of  his  own  in- 
vention that  we  must  call  often  during  our  stay 
in  his  city. 


THROUGH   THE   WILDERNESS  TO 
A  GARDEN. 

"  Now  he  bethought  himself  of  set- 
ting forward^ 

"  Here^  also,  they  had  the  city  it- 
self in  view,  and  they  thought  they 
heard  all  the  bells  therein  to  ring  to 
welcome  them  thereto.'''' 

"^TL /"E  left  the  monastery  the  next  morning. 
It  took  courage  on  our  part ;  but  we 
knew  it  was  best  to  go  quickly.  Every  day 
we  fell  more  under  the  dreamy  influence  of 
the  place  and  became  less  willing  for  action. 
We  must  hasten  from  Monte  Oliveto  for  the 
very  reason  which  led  Blessed  Bernardo  to  it, 
—  to  flee  temptation.  The  Abate  was  in  our 
room  by  half-past  seven.  Dom  Giuseppe  was 
in  the  church  saying  Massi,  but  had  sent  his 
farewells.  He  himself  had  not  yet  said  Mass, 
so  he  could  not  drink  his  coflee  with  us,  but 
he  sat  by  while  we  had  ours.  We  should  not 
reach  San  Quirico  till  noon,  he  feared,  and  we 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  95 

must  have  something  in  our  pockets  to  eat  in 
the  mean  time;  and  he  went  to  his  room  and 
came  back  with  two  cakes.  He  brought  be- 
sides two  letters  he  had  written  introducing 
us  to  monks  at  San  Pietro  in  Perugia.  Then 
he  came  downstairs  and  out  to  the  stable, 
though  he  was  fasting,  and  the  morning  was 
wet  and  cloudy  and  cold.  We  did  not  get 
on  the  tricycle  at  once.  We  remembered  the 
road  too  well.  The  Abate  walked  by  our  side, 
now  and  then  patting  J.  on  the  back  and  call- 
ing him  affectionately  "Giuseppe,  Giuseppe;" 
and  he  kept  with  us  until,  at  some  little  dis- 
tance from  the  gateway,  we  mounted  the  ma- 
chine. After  he  had  said  good-by,  he  stood 
quietly  watching  us.  Then  there  came  a  turn 
in  the  road  which  hid  him  from  us,  and  when 
we  saw  him  again  he  was  walking  on  the  foot- 
path below  the  cypresses,  with  two  little  boys 
who  had  come  out  with  him.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  take  Dom  Giuseppe's  place  at  the  altar. 
And  then  we  went  on  sadly,  for  we  knew  we 
should  not  come  to  another  resting-place  where 
there  was  such  perfect  relief  for  pilgrims  that 
are  weary  and  faint  in  the  way. 


96  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

As  the  road  was  difficult  going  up,  so  was 
it  dangerous  coming  down,  and  again  we  had 
to  walk.  To  add  to  our  discomfort,  before 
long  it  began  to  rain,  and  it  was  so  cold  we 
had  to  blow  on  our  fingers  to  keep  them  warm. 
During  the  night  it  had  snowed  on  the  far 
mountain-ranges.  Beyond  Buonconvento,  when 
we  returned  to  the  post-road  we  went  fast 
enough ;  but  only  for  a  while.  There  were 
more  mountains  to  cross,  up  which  J.  could 
not  go  very  fast  because  of  the  burden,  or 
knapsack,  that  was  on  his  back.  Out  of  very 
shame  I  took  my  share  in  pushing  and  pull- 
ing the  tricycle.  Once  or  twice  we  had  long 
coasts ;  but  in  places  the  road  was  sandy,  and 
in  descending  wound  as  often  as  a  small  St. 
Gothard  railway.  Coasting  would  have  been 
too  great  a  risk,  especially  as  I  never  could 
back-pedal  going  down  hill,  though  on  up- 
grades J.  but  too  often  complained  that,  like 
Dante  on  the  hillside,  my  firm  foot  ever  was 
the  lower. 

The  way  still  lay  between  and  over  hills  of 
chalk,  and  we  rode  for  miles  through  monoto- 
nous   barrenness.     It  rained  at    intervals,  but 


-^^^ 


^  ly^H  ^\  '^-  f\ 


At  the  Foot  of  the  Cross. 

^ap-e  96. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  97 

at  times  the  sun  almost  broke  through  the 
clouds  that  followed  it  in  long  gray  sweeps 
from  the  white  masses  on  the  snow-capped 
mountains  bounding  the  horizon.  To  our 
right,  Monte  Amiata,  bare  and  rugged,  and 
with  white  top,  was  always  in  sight ;  and  once 
above  it  the  clouds  rolled  away  leaving  a  broad 
stretch  of  greenish  blue  sky.  There  were 
many  crosses  by  the  wayside,  and  they  were 
different  from  any  we  had  yet  seen.  On  each, 
over  spear  and  sponge  and  crown  of  thorns, 
was  a  black  cock,  rudely  carved  to  look  as  if  it 
crowed.  Just  before  we  came  to  San  Quirico, 
and  towards  noon,  we  saw  at  the  foot  of  one  of 
these  crosses  an  old  weary-looking  peasant,  with 
head  bowed  as  if  he  listened  for  the  Angelus. 

We  were  prepossessed  against  San  Quirico 
before  we  reached  it.  Olives  with  vines  hang- 
ing from  them  in  defiance  of  Virgil,  brown 
fields,  and  red  and  yellow  trees,  could  not 
reconcile  us  to  the  long  climb  up  the  moun- 
tain. It  was  worth  our  trouble,  however,  if 
only  to  see  the  cathedral.  We  left  the  tricycle 
at  the  trattoria,  and  at  our  leisure  looked  at 
the  portal  and  its  pillars,  with  quaintly  carved 


98  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress. 

capitals  of  animals  and  birds,  and  at  those 
others,  joined  together  with  a  Celtic-Kke  twist 
and  resting  on  leopards,  and  then  at  the  two 
sea-monsters  above.  And  while  we  wondered 
at  the  grotesque  gargoyles  on  the  walls,  and 
the  two  figures  for  columns,  and  the  lions  on 
the  south  doorway,  two  carabinieri  from  a 
neighboring  window  examined  us  as  if  we  were 
equal  curiosities.  This  fine  building  is  an  in- 
congruity in  San  Quirico,  which  —  for  our  first 
impressions  proved  right  —  is  at  best  but  a 
poor  place.  We  were  cheated  in  it  as  we  had 
never  been  before.  When  we  went  back  to 
the  trattoria  four  men  were  eating  their  dinner 
inside  the  fireplace  in  the  kitchen.  But  we 
were  ushered  into  what  I  suppose  was  the  best 
room.  It  was  dining-room  and  bed-chamber 
combined.  On  one  side  was  a  long  table,  on 
the  other  the  bed.  The  dressing-table  served 
as  buffet,  and  the  padrona  brought  from  its 
drawers  the  cheese  and  apples  for  our  dessert. 
In  the  garden  below  —  for  we  were  in  the 
second  story  —  weeds  like  corn  grew  so  tall 
that  they  shaded  the  window.  What  happened 
in   that  room,  and   the   difference   that   arose 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  99 

between  the  padrona  and  ourselves,  are  facts 
too  unpleasant  to  recall.  But  I  am  sure  the 
next  foreigners  who  went  to  San  Quirico  heard 
woful  tales  of  the  evil  doings  of  the  two  Inglesi 
who  came  on  a  velocipede. 

After  San  Quirico  there  was  the  same  bar- 
renness, and  only  indifferent  roads  over  rolling 
country.  Until  within  half  a  mile  of  Pienza, 
where  the  hedges  began  again,  not  a  tree  grew 
by  the  roadside,  and  the  only  signs  of  vegeta- 
tion were  the  reeds  in  the  little  dark  pools 
dotting  the  gray  fields.  It  was  still  bitterly 
cold,  and  my  fingers  tingled  on  the  handles. 
Once  we  passed  a  farm-house  where  a  solitary 
woman  watched  a  herd  of  black  swine,  and 
once  we  met  the  diligence  ;    that  was  all. 

We  rode  into  Pienza,  though  our  way  lay  to 
one  side  of  it.  But  we  were  curious  to  see  the 
cathedrals  and  palaces  Pius  II.  built  there  in 
the  vain  hope  of  turning  his  native  village  into 
an  important  town.  Of  all  the  follies  of  proud 
popes,  I  think  this  was  the  greatest.  A^  well 
might  he  have  hoped  by  his  single  effort  to 
cover  the  creta,  or  chalk,  with  roses,  as  to  raise 
a  prosperous  city  in   its  midst.     We  saw  the 


lOO  Tzuo   Pilzrims^    Proo-ress. 

great  brown  buildings  marked  with  the  fine 
crescents  of  the  Piccolomini  and  the  papal 
tiara  and  keys,  as  out  of  place  in  Pienza  as  the 
cathedral  seemed  in  San  Quirico  ;  we  looked 
closer  at  the  old  stone  well  and  its  beautiful 
wrought-iron  work.  J.  made  a  sketch  of  a  fine 
courtyard,  and  then  we  were  on  the  road  again. 
Near  Montepulciano  we  came  to  a  thickly 
wooded  country,  riding  for  several  miles  be- 
tween chestnuts  and  oaks.  There  were  open 
places,  too,  from  which  we  saw  far  below  the 
fair  Val  di  Chiana,  and  in  the  distance  Lake 
Thrasymene,  pale  and  silvery,  and  close  by 
olive-gardens,  through  whose  gray  branches 
we  looked  at  the  purple  mountains  and  their 
snowy  summits.  Above  were  broad  spaces  of 
bright  sky,  for  the  dark  clouds  were  rolling 
away  beyond  the  lake,  and  those  that  floated 
around  Monte  Amiata  were  now  glistening 
and  white.  We  had  left  the  wilderness  for  a 
garden.  All  the  bells  rang  out  as  if  in  wel- 
come when,  after  working  up  the  long  road,  so 
winding  that  at  times  the  city  was  completely 
hidden,  we  wheeled  into  the  now  dark  and  cold 
streets  of  Montepulciano. 


WE  ARE   DETAINED.-mi>MMTfiviV;i^ 
PULCIANO. 

"  They  were  therefore  here  in  evil 
case,  and  were  far  frotn  friends  and 
acqMainta?tces  y 

"  Why,  truly,  I  do  not  know 
what  had  become  of  me  there,  had 
not  Evangelist  happily  7net  ine.^'' 

TT  was  in  this  high  hill  town  that  one  of  the 
"*-  pilgrims  fell  by  the  way.  For  two  days 
J.  was  too  ill  to  ride,  and  we  feared  our  pil- 
grimage had  come  to  an  end.  We  stayed  at 
the  Albergo  Marzocco.  It  was  on  the  fifth 
floor  of  an  old  palace,  and  the  entrance  was 
through  the  kitchen.  The  padrone  and  his 
family  were  very  sociable.  Almost  immedi- 
ately his  wife  wanted  to  know  the  trade  of  the 
Signore.  "  Ah  !  an  artist.  Ecco  me  !  I  am  a 
washerwoman !  " 

She  was  also  cook.     From  the  dinino^-room 
we  could  watch  her  as  she  prepared  our  meals. 


I02  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

When  she  kept  us  waiting  too  long  we  had 
only  to  step  into  the  kitchen  and  stand  over 
her  until  .the. dish  we  had  ordered  was  ready. 
We  could  look  too  into  an  adjacent  room 
whej«e  during  .our  *  stay  one  daughter  of  the 
house  forever  ironed  table-cloths,  while  a  second 
added  up  endless  accounts. 

But  friendly  as  these  people  were,  they  were 
stupid.  The  padrone  had  a  pizzicheria,  or 
pork-shop,  across  the  street.  When  anything 
was  wanted  at  the  Albergo  it  was  brought 
from  the  shop.  Every  time  I  went  to  my 
window  I  saw  messengers  on  their  way  be- 
tween the  two  establishments.  But  no  man 
can  serve  two  masters;  the  pizzicheria  drove 
a  more  thriving  trade,  and  the  Albergo  suffered 
in  consequence.  It  was  left  in  the  charge  of 
a  youth  of  unparalleled  stupidity,  who  seldom 
understood  what  we  asked  for,  and  when  he 
did,  declared  it  something  not  to  be  had.  But 
a  friend  was  sent  to  us  in  our  need. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  The  first  morning 
we  went  out  for  a  walk.  As  we  started,  and 
were  passing  the  palace  with  the  Etruscan  in- 
scriptions on  the  heavy  stones  of  its  lower  wall, 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  103 

a  Harlequin  newly  painted  in  red  and  white 
struck  nine  from  a  house-top  near  by.  In  the 
Via  deir  Erbe  women,  their  heads  covered 
with  gay  handkerchiefs  or  wide-brimmed,  high- 
crowned  felt  hats,  were  selling  vegetables  and 
fruit.  Just  in  front  of  us,  w^alking  hand  in 
hand,  were  three  beggars,  two  blind  and  one 
lame,  and  an  old  brown  monk  with  a  wine- 
cask  on  his  shoulder.  At  almost  every  turn  we 
saw  through  an  archway  the  three  far-away 
lakes  of  Montepulciano,  Chiusi,  and  Thrasy- 
mene.  But  it  was  now  J.  began  to  feel  ill, 
and  we  went  to  a  caff^  and  called  for  cognac. 
As  w^e  sat  there  the  door  opened  and  a 
young  Italian  dressed  a  VAnglaise,  even  to  his 
silver-headed  cane,  came  in.  He  took  a  seat 
at  the  table  next  to  us.  When  his  coffee  was 
brought  he  asked  the  waiter  if  he  had  seen 
the  English  lady  and  gentleman  who  arrived, 
the  evening  before  on  a  velocipede.  No,  the 
waiter  had  not ;  he  knew  nothing  of  these  for- 
eigners. There  was  a  pause,  while  the  young 
Italian  sipped  his  coffee.  But  presently  he 
turned  to  us  and  said  in  good  English,  but 
with  a  marked  accent :  — 


I04  Two  Pilgrims    Progress, 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sare,  but  was  it  not  you  who 
came  to  Montepulciano  on  a  tricycle  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  J.,  but  rather  curtly,  for  he  was 
just  then  very  miserably. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so!"  continued  the  Italian, 
well  satisfied  with  the  answer.  "  I  have  seen  it, 
—  a  Humber.  It  is  a  beautiful  machine.  I 
myself  do  ride  a  bicycle,  —  the  Speecial  Cloob, 
You  know  it?  I  do  belong  to  the  Cyclists' 
Touring  Cloob  and  to  the  Speedvell  Clood,  All 
the  English  champions  do  belong  to  that  Clood. 
I  did  propose  some  one  for  director  at  the 
last  meeting;  you  will  see  my  name  on  that 
account  in  the  papers.  Here  is  my  card,  but 
in  the  country  around  Montepulciano  all  call 
me  Sandro  or  Sandrino.  I  have  ridden  from 
Florence  to  Montepulciano  in  one  day.  I 
have  what  you  call  the  wheel  fever,"  —  and  he 
smiled  apologetically  and  stopped,  but  only  to 
take  breath. 

We  were  fellow-cyclers,  and  that  was  enough. 
He  was  at  once  our  friend,  though  our  greet- 
ing in  return  was  not  enthusiastic,  and  our 
record  would  have  disgusted  the  Spccdvcll 
Cloob.     He  could  sympathize.     He  was  feeling 


Two   Pilgrims'    Progress,  105 

vary  bad  himself,  because  the  day  before  he 
had  gone  on  his  bicycle  as  far  as  Montalcino 
with  a  gun  to  keel  the  leetle  birds.  It  was  too 
far  even  for  a  champion.  But  he  had  taken 
the  waters  —  Janos  :  he  had  great  faith  in  the 
waters. 

The  cognac  by  this  time  had  made  J.  bet- 
ter, and  we  started  to  leave  the  caff^e.  San- 
drino,  to  give  him  his  Montepulciano  name, 
insisted  on  paying  for  everything.  We  must 
let  him  have  that  favor,  he  said,  and  also  an- 
other. He  was  not  a  native  of  the  town,  —  he 
was  a  Roman,  as  he  supposed  we  could  see  by 
his  nose,  —  but  still  he  would  like  to  do  us  the 
honors  of  the  place.  He  would  take  us  to  see 
so  fine  a  church  we  could  not  but  be  pleased 
with  it;  it  was  only  a  step.  Foolishly  we 
went.  The  step  was  a  long  one.  It  took  us 
half-way  down  the  mountain-side  to  the  Ma- 
donna di  San  Biagio.  But  J.  was  now  really 
too  wretched  to  look  at  anything,  and  we 
turned  back  at  once.  As  we  walked  slowly 
up  again,  Sandrino  explained  that  he  had  lived 
in  England  several  years;  and  it  turned  out 
that  he  had  the  English  as  well  as  the  wheel 


io6  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

fever.  All  his  clothes  were  from  London,  he 
said,  even  his  flannels ;  and  he  pulled  down  his 
sleeve  that  we  might  see.  He  smoked  Eng- 
lish tobacco,  —  a  friend  sent  it  to  him ;  and  he 
showed  us  the  small  paper  box  tied  with  a 
string  in  which  he  kept  it.  And  most  of  his 
news  was  English,  too.  His  friends  wrote 
him.  He  had  just  had  a  letter  —  see  —  and  he 
opened  it.  There  had  been  fearful  riots  in 
England.  He  cared  much  for  the  politics  of 
the  country.  But  the  refrain  of  all  he  said  was 
praise  of  cycling.  He  offered  to  ride  with  us 
when  we  left  Montepulciano.  He  could  go 
any  day  but  the  next,  which  was  his  twenty- 
first  birthday,  when  he  was  to  have  a  great 
dinner  and  many  friends  and  much  wine.  He 
would  call,  if  we  would  allow  him  ;  and  with 
profession  of  great  friendship  he  left  us  at  the 
door  of  the  Albergo. 

He  was  true  to  his  word.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
know  what  had  become  of  us  but  for  his 
kindness.  After  our  return  from  our  walk,  J. 
was  unable  to  leave  his  room.  We  were 
both  depressed  by  this  unlooked-for  delay,  and 
Sandrino  not  only  helped  to  amuse,  but  was  of 


< 

H 
O 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  107 

practical  use  to  us.  He  came  twice  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  first  time  he  stopped,  he  said,  to 
tell  us  he  did  hear  from  friends  in  Castiglione 
del  Lago,  who,  if  we  should  ride  to-morrow, 
would  be  glad  to  see  us  at  lunch.  "  There  will 
be  nothing  much,"  he  concluded;  "they  will 
make  no  preparations.  It  will  be  some  leetle 
thing."  Though  in  the  first  glory  of  his 
twenty-one  years,  he  went  with  me  to  a  drug- 
gist's to  act  as  interpreter.  But  I  think  he 
was  repaid  by  his  pleasure  in  carrying  back  a 
bottle  of  his  favorite  waters.  The  boy,  when 
he  saw  it,  with  his  usual  cleverness  followed 
into  the  room  bringing  three  glasses.  If  we 
had  asked  for  three  he  doubtless  would  have 
brought  one.  Sandrino's  second  visit  was  in 
the  evening  after  he  had  eaten  his  great  dinner 
and  drunk  much  wine,  which  had  again  made 
him  feel  vary  bad.  Had  we  ever  tasted  the 
famous  Montepulciano,  "  king  of  all  wine  "  }  he 
asked.  No  .f*  Well,  then,  we  must  before  leav- 
ing the  town.  It  was  not  to  be  had  anywhere 
else,  and  indeed  even  in  Montepulciano  could 
not  be  bought  in  the  caff^e  or  shops.  He  had 
been  presented  with  many  bottles. 


io8  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

He  repeated  his  invitation  to  lunch  in  Cas- 
tiglione,  and  it  seemed  that  other  friends  in  a 
villa  near  Cortona  would  also  be  charmed  to 
see  us,  and  to  give  us  wine  if  we  were  tired. 


IN  THE  VAL  Dl   CHIANA. 

"  Thy  company^  O  sweet  Evan- 
gelist^ how  desirable  it  is  to  us  poor 
pilgrims.''^ 

"  Then  I  saw  in  7ny  dream  they 
went  very  lovingly  on  together.'''' 

T^HE  next  morning  J.  was  much  better,  and 
"*■  we  decided  to  ride.  Sandrino  arrived 
at  half-past  seven  and  breakfasted  with  us. 
In  the  uniform  of  the  Speedvell  Cloob,  its 
monogram  in  silver  on  his  cap,  he  was  even 
more  English  than  he  had  been  the  day  be- 
fore. Our  last  experience  at  the  Albergo  was 
characteristic.  The  waiter,  overcome  by  San- 
drino's  appearance,  became  incapable  of  action. 
We  called  for  our  coffee  and  rolls  in  vain. 
Finally  we  all,  our  guest  included,  made  a 
descent  upon  the  kitchen  and  forced  him  to 
bestir  himself. 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  the  news  of  our 
going  had  been  noised  abroad.    The  aristocracy 


I  lo  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

as  well  as  the  people  turned  out  to  see  us  off. 
Many  of  Sandrino's  friends  lingered  in  the 
barber-shop  across  the  street ;  others  waited 
just  without  the  city  gate  with  his  mother  and 
sister.  When  Sandrino  saw  the  crowd  here, 
he  sprang  upon  his  Speecial  Cloob,  worked  with 
one  foot  and  waved  the  other  in  the  air,  rode 
io  the  little  park  beyond  and  back,  and  then 
jumped  off,  hat  in  hand,  at  his  mother's  side, 
with  the  complacent  smile  of  a  champion. 
Indeed,  the  whole  ride  that  day  savored  of  the 
circus.  He  went  down  hills  with  his  legs 
stretched  straight  out  on  either  side.  On  level 
places  he  made  circles  and  fancy  figures  in  the 
road.  Whenever  we  passed  peasants,  —  and 
there  were  many  going  to  church,  —  he  shrieked 
a  warning  shrill  as  a  steam-engine  whistle.  No 
wonder  he  said  he  had  no  use  for  a  bell !  He 
spoke  to  all  the  women,  calling  them  his 
"beautiful  cousins."  And  in  villages  the  noise 
he  made  was  so  great  that  frightened  people, 
staring  at  him,  could  not  look  behind,  so  that 
several  times  we  all  but  rode  over  men  and 
women  who  walked  backward  right  into  our 
wheels.     And  all  the  while  J.,  like  the  ring- 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  1 1 1 

master,  kept  calling  and  shrieking,  and  no  one 
paid  the  least  attention  to  him. 

Our  way  was  through  the  beautiful  Val  di 
Chiana,  no  longer  pestilential  and  full  of  stenches 
as  in  Dante's  day,  but  fresh  and  fair,  and  in 
places  sweet  with  clematis.  There  were  no 
fences  or  hedges,  and  it  stretched  from  moun- 
tains to  mountains,  one  wide  lovely  park. 
About  half-way  to  Castiglione  we  came  to  the 
boundary  line  between  Tuscany  and  Umbria,  — 
a  canal  with  tall  poplars  on  its  banks,  throwing 
long  reflections  into  the  water  below,  where  a 
boat  lay  by  the  reeds.  We  stopped  there  some 
little  time.  Sandrino  was  polite,  but  I  could 
see  he  did  not  approve.  What  would  the 
Speedvell  Cloob  have  thought?  Farther  on, 
when  we  waited  again  near  a  low  farm-house 
under  the  oaks,  he  wheeled  quickly  on.  But 
presently  he  came  back.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I 
thought  you  must  have  had  an  accident ! " 

There  could  be  no  lovelier  lake  town  than 
Castiglione  del  Lago.  The  high  hill  on  which 
it  stands  projects  far  into  Lake  Thrasymene. 
The  olives  which  grow  from  its  walls  down  the 
hillside  into  the  very  water  are  larger  and  finer, 


1 1 2  Two   PilgriTHs    Progress. 

with  more  strangely  twisted  trunks,  than  any 
I  have  ever  seen.  As  we  came  near  the  town 
we  rode  between  them,  looking  beneath  their 
silvery-gray  branches  out  to  the  pale  blue  lake 
beyond.  A  woman  came  from  under  their 
shade  with  a  bundle  of  long  reeds  on  her  head; 
a  priest  passed  us  on  a  donkey. 

We  left  our  machines  in  a  stable  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  and  walked  through  the  streets. 
Here  Sandrino's  invitation  came  to  nought ; 
his  friends  were  away.  Whatever  leetle  thing 
we  had  must  be  found  elsewhere.  So  we  went 
to  a  trattoria,  where  another  of  his  friends, 
a  serious,  polite  young  man  who,  we  learned 
afterwards,  owns  the  town  and  all  the  country 
thereabout,  sat  and  talked  with  us  while  we 
ate  our  lunch.  Poor  Sandrino !  He  had  to 
pay  for  his  English  clothes  and  foreign  friends  ! 
The  padrona,  backed  by  her  husband  from  the 
kitchen  below,  asked  him  no  less  than  five 
francs  for  our  macaroni  and  wine.  A  dispute, 
loud  because  of  the  distance  between  the  dis- 
putants, followed;  but  in  the  end  Sandrino 
paid  four  francs,  though  half  that  sum  would 
have  been  enough.     It  was  some  consolation 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  1 1 3 

for  us  to  know  that,  forestieri  as  we  were,  we 
had  never  been  cheated  so  outrageously,  not 
even  in  San  Quirico. 

It  was  pleasant  wandering  through  the  town, 
with  the  grave  young  man  as  guide,  to  the 
Palazzo  Communale,  where  the  red  and  white 
flag  of  the  Duke  of  Cornia  waving  outside  was 
the  same  as  that  painted  in  the  old  frescos 
within,  and  where  councilmen  holding  council 
bowed  to  us  as  we  passed ;  and  then  to  the  old 
deserted  castle  which,  with  its  gray  battlemented 
walls  and  towers,  was  not  unlike  an  English 
ruin.  But  it  was  pleasanter  when,  Sandrino 
having  kissed  his  friend,  we  were  on  the  road 
again,  riding  between  yellow  mulberries  by 
the  side  of  the  lake.  Sheep  were  grazing  on 
the  grassy  banks  ;  donkeys  and  oxen  were  at 
rest  in  the  meadows.  But  the  peasants.  Mass 
heard,  were  at  work  again.  Women  on  lad- 
ders were  stripping  the  mulberries  of  their 
leaves ;  men  on  their  knees  were  digging  in 
the  fields. 

At  the  villa,  Sandrino's  friends  were  at  home. 
At  the  gate  the  gay  bicycler  gave  his  war-cry. 
A  young  lady  ran  out  between  the  roses  and 

8 


114  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress. 

chrysanthemums  in  the  garden  and  by  the  red 
wall  where  yellow  pumpkins  were  sunning,  to 
welcome  him.  Then  her  mother  and  sister 
came  and  also  gave  him  greeting.  They  re- 
ceived us  with  courtesy.  We  were  led  into  the 
drawing-room,  a  bare,  barn-like  place  with  cold 
brick  floor,  where  there  were  three  or  four 
chairs,  a  table,  an  old  piano,  faded  cretonne 
curtains  hung  on  rough  sticks  at  the  windows, 
and  small  drawings  pinned  on  the  walls.  A 
man  in  blue  coat  and  trousers,  such  as  the 
peasants  wear,  followed  us  in  and  sat  down  by 
the  young  ladies.  He  was  one  of  her  men,  the 
Signora  explained.  Then  we  had  the  wine 
Sandrino  promised,  and  we  became  very 
friendly.  One  of  the  daughters  knew  a  little 
English,  but  when  we  spoke  to  her  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  laughed  and  blushed. 
She  never,  never  would  dare  to  say  a  word 
before  us,  she  declared.  She  was  very  arch 
and  girlish.  One  minute  she  played  a  waltz 
on  the  piano;  the  next  she  teased  Sandrino, 
and  there  was  much  pleasantry  between  them. 
The  mother  spoke  French  after  a  fashion,  but 
when  she  had  anything  to  say  she  relapsed  into 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  1 1 5 

Italian.  She  lived  in  Rome,  she  said.  We 
must  come  and  see  her  there.  But  would  we 
not  now  stay  at  her  villa  all  night,  instead  of 
in  Cortona?  Then  she  squeezed  my  hand. 
"  VoMs  etes  bien  sympathique','  she  said,  and  I 
think  she  meant  to  compliment  me.  Her 
husband,  it  seems,  was  a  banker  in  Rome, 
and  would  be  pleased,  so  she  told  us  through 
Sandrino's  interpretation,  to  do  anything  and 
everything  for  us. 

Mother  and  daughters,  men  and  maids,  all 
walking  amiably  together,  came  to  the  garden 
gate  with  us.  The  Signora  here  squeezed 
my  hand  a  second  time.  The  skittish  young 
lady  said  "  good-by "  and  then  hid  behind  a 
bush,  and  her  sister  gave  us  each  some  roses. 
It  was  here  too  we  were  to  part  with  Sandrino. 
He  must  be  back  in  Montepulciano  by  six ; 
more  friends  were  coming.  Would  we  write 
him  postal  cards  to  tell  him  of  the  distance  and 
time  we  made?  And  that  map  of  Tuscany  we 
said  we  would  give  him,  would  we  not  remem- 
ber it?  He  was  going  to  take  some  great 
rides,  and  it  would  help  him.  Then  we  turned 
one    way,    and    he,   riding    his    best    for    the 


1 1 6  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

young  ladies,  the  other,  to  be  seen  by  us  no 
more. 

It  was  roses  all  the  way  to  Cortona.  They 
grew  in  villa  gardens  and  along  the  road  up 
the  mountain ;  there  were  a  few  even  among 
the  olives,  on  the  terraces  whose  stone  embank- 
ments make  the  city  from  below  look  as  if  it 
were  surrounded  by  many  walls  instead  of  one 
only.  Near  the  town  we  met  two  young  lovers, 
their  arms  around  each  other's  waists,  and  a 
group  of  men  who  directed  us  in  our  search 
for  the  inn  up  a  short  steep  hill  leading  away 
from  the  main  road.  Above,  inside  the  city 
gate,  several  other  citizens  told  us  we  must  go 
down  again,  for  the  road  we  had  left  led  right 
by  the  door.  Clearly  the  Albergo  della  Stella 
—  for  that  was  its  name  —  was  not  well  known 
in  Cortona.  After  a  climb  of  three  miles  it  was 
provoking  to  go  even  a  foot  out  of  our  way, 
and  we  turned  back  in  no  cheerful  mood.  It 
was  more  disheartening  when,  having  finally 
come  to  the  Albergo,  we  found  the  lower  floor, 
by  which  we  entered,  the  home  of  pigs  and 
donkeys  and  oxen.  The  major  was  right,  I 
thought ;   Cortona  was  a  rough  place.      The 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  117 

contrast  when  on  the  third  floor  of  this  estab- 
lishment we  were  shown  into  a  large,  clean, 
really  well-furnished  room  with  window  over- 
looking the  valley,  made  us  neglect  to  drive 
a  close  bargain  with  the  padrona,  —  a  neglect 
for  which  we  suffered  later. 


LUCA    SIGNORELLI'S    TOWN. 

"  By  this  time  the  pilgrifns  had  a 
desi7-e  to  go  forward,'''' 

nnHE  principal  event  of  our  stay  in  Cortona 
"*•  was  a  hunt  for  Luca  Signorelli's  house. 
Why  we  were  so  anxious  to  find  it  I  did  not 
know  then,  nor  do  I  now;  but  we  were  very 
earnest  about  it.  At  the  start  a  youth 
pursued  us  with  the  persistence  of  a  govern- 
ment spy.  It  was  useless  to  try  and  dodge 
him.  No  matter  how  long  we  were  in 
churches  or  by  what  door  we  came  out,  he 
was  always  waiting  in  exactly  the  right  place. 
In  our  indignation  we  would  not  ask  him 
the  way,  but  we  did  of  some  other  boys,  who 
forthwith  led  us  such  a  wild-goose  chase 
that  I  think  before  it  was  over  there  was 
not  a  street  or  corner  of  the  town  unvisited 
by  us. 


i'^]mm 


o 

H 

o 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  119 

We  next  employed  an  old  man  as  guide. 
Of  course  he  knew  all  about  Luca  Signorelli. 
He  could  show  us  all  his  frescos  and  pictures 
in  Cortona.  Some  of  them  were  bad  enough, 
as  he  supposed  the  Signore  knew;  they  were 
painted  in  the  artist's  youth.  But  we  wanted 
to  see  his  house  '^.  Ah !  we  had  but  to  follow 
him,  and  he  led  us  in  triumph  to  that  of  Pietro 
da  Cortona.  As  this  would  not  do,  he  con- 
sulted with  an  old  woman,  who  recommended 
a  visit  to  a  certain  padre.  The  padre  was 
in  his  kitchen.  He  had  never  heard  of 
Signorelli's  house,  and  honestly  admitted  his 
ignorance.  But  could  he  show  us  some  fine 
frescos  or  sell  us  antiquities?  This  failing, 
our  guide  hunted  for  some  friends  who,  he 
declared,  knew  everything.  But  they  were  not 
in  their  shop,  nor  in  the  caff^e,  nor  on  the 
piazza,  and  in  despair  he  took  us  to  see  another 
priest.  The  latter  wore  a  jockey-cap  and  gog- 
gles, and  was  a  learned  man.  He  had  heard 
of  a  life  of  Signorelli  by  a  German.  He  had 
never  read  it,  nor  indeed  could  he  say  where 
it  was  to  be  had ;  but  he  knew  there  was  such 
a  book.     He  was  certain  our  hunt  was  useless, 


I20  Two   Pilgrims    Progjrss, 

since  Signorelli  had  lived  in  so  many  houses 
the  city  could  not  afford  to  put  tablets  on  them 
all,  and  so  not  one  was  marked.  He  him- 
self was  a  professional  letter-writer,  and  if  the 
Signore  had  any  letters  he  wished  written  —  ? 
We  then  gave  up  the  search  and  dismissed 
the  old  man  with  a  franc,  though  he  declared 
himself  still  willing  to  continue  it.  It  was  in 
this  way  we  saw  Cortona. 

For  the  last  few  days  we  had  begun  to  be 
haunted  by  the  fear  of  the  autumn  rains.  If 
they  were  as  bad  as  Virgil  says,  and  were  to 
fall  in  dense  sheets,  tearing  the  crops  up  by 
the  roots,  while  black  whirlwinds  set  the  stub- 
ble flying,  and  vast  torrents  filled  ditches  and 
raised  rivers,  the  roads  must  certainly  be  made 
unridable.  Since  the  morning  we  left  Monte 
Oliveto  the  weather  had  been  threatening,  and 
now  in  Cortona  there  were  heavy  showers.  As 
we  sat  in  our  room  at  the  Albergo  after  our 
long  tramp,  and  J.  made  a  sketch  from  the 
window,  we  saw  dark  clouds  gradually  cover 
the  sky.  The  lake,  so  blue  yesterday,  was 
gray  and  dull.  The  valley  and  the  mountains 
were  in  shadow,  save  where  the  sun  breaking 


Two   Pilgrims^   Progress.  121 

through  the  clouds  shone  on  a  small  square 
of  olives  and  spread  a  golden  mist  over  Monte 
Amiata.  Before  J.  had  finished,  the  gold 
faded  into  white  and  then  deepened  into  pur- 
ple, and  we  determined  to  be  off  early  in  the 
morning. 


TO   PERUGIA:   BY  TRAIN   AND 
TRICYCLE. 

"  Now  you  must  note  that  the 
City  stood  upon  a  7?iighty  hill,  but 
the  pilgrims  went  up  that  hill  with 
ease?'' 

nr^HE  next  day  I  was  tired  and  in  no  humor 
-*•  for  riding.  J.  wanted  once  to  try  the 
tricycle  without  luggage  over  the  Italian  roads. 
It  was  settled  then  between  us  that  I  should 
go  alone  by  train  to  Perugia,  where  we  should 
meet.  Before  seven  we  had  our  breakfast  and 
the  padrona  brought  us  her  bill.  Because  we 
had  not  bargained  in  the  beginning  she  over- 
charged us  for  everything;  but  we  refused  to 
pay  more  than  we  knew  was  her  due.  There 
was  the  inevitable  war  of  words,  more  unpleas- 
ant than  usual  because  her  voice  was  loud  and 
harsh  and  asthmatic.  She  grew  tearful  before 
it  was  over,  but  finally  thanked  us  for  what 
we  gave  her,  and  asked  us  to  come  again  so 


Two   Pilgrims'   Progress.  123 

gently  that  we  mistrusted  her.  I  thought  it 
wise  to  wait  with  the  bags  at  the  station, 
though  my  train  would  not  start  till  eleven. 

It  was  a  beautiful  coast  down  the  mountain 
between  the  olives,  four  miles  with  feet  up. 
The  clouds  had  rolled  away  during  the  night, 
and  it  was  bright  and  warm  at  the  station 
when  J.  left  me  to  go  on  his  way.  It  was 
quiet  too,  and  for  some  time  I  was  alone  with 
the  porters.  But  presently  a  young  woman 
with  a  child  in  her  arms  came  by.  She  stopped 
and  looked  at  me  sympathetically.  I  spoke  to 
her,  and  then  she  came  nearer  and  patted  me 
on  the  shoulder  and  said,  "  Poverina !''  It 
seems  she  had  seen  J.  bring  me  to  the 
station  and  then  turn  back  by  himself.  I  do 
not  know  what  she  thought  was  the  trouble, 
but  she  felt  sorry  for  me.  She  was  the  wife 
of  the  telegraph  operator,  and  lived  in  rooms 
above  the  station.  She  took  me  to  them,  and 
then  she  brought  me  an  illustrated  translation 
of  "  Gil  Bias  "  to  look  at  while  she  made  me  a 
cup  of  coffee.  Every  few  minutes  she  sighed 
and  said  again,  "  Poverina  I "  She  gave  me 
her   card,  —  Elena  Olas,  nata  Bocci,   was   her 


124  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

name.  I  wrote  mine  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and 
when  the  train,  only  an  hour  late,  came,  we 
parted  with  great  friendship. 

A  regiment  of  soldiers  was  on  its  way  to 
Perugia  and  made  the  journey  very  lively. 
Peasants  who  had  somehow  heard  of  its  com- 
ing were  in  wait  at  every  station  with  apples 
and  chestnuts  and  wine,  over  which  there  was 
much  noisy  bargaining.  At  other  times  the 
soldiers  sang.  As  the  train  carried  us  by  the 
lake  from  which  the  mountains  in  the  distance 
rose  white  and  shadowy  and  phantom-like, 
and  by  Passignano, — built  right  in  the  water, 
with  reeds  instead  of  flowers  around  the  houses, 
where  fishermen  were  out  in  their  boats  near 
the  weirs,  —  and  then  by  Maggiore  and  Ellora 
on  their  hill-tops,  I  heard  the  constant  refrain 
of  the  soldiers'  song,  and  it  reminded  me  of  my 
friend  at  Cortona,  for  it  was  a  plaintive  regret 
for  "  Poverina  mia ! "  Then  there  came  a 
pause  in  the  singing,  and  a  voice  called  out, 
*'  Ecco,  Perugia !  "  I  looked  from  the  carriage 
window,  and  there,  far  above  on  the  mountain, 
I  saw  it,  white  and  shining,  like  a  beautiful  city 
of  the  sun. 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  125 

At  the  station  J.  met  me.  He  had  been 
waiting  an  hour,  having  made  the  thirty-six 
miles  between  Cortona  and  Perugia  in  three 
hours  and  a  half.  He  too  had  had  his  adven- 
tures. Beyond  Passignano  he  met  a  man  on 
foot  who  spoke  to  him,  and  to  whom  he  said, 
"  Buon  Giornoy  "  Good-morning,"  cried  the 
man  in  good  cockney  English,  and  J.  in 
sheer  astonishment  stopped  the  tricycle.  The 
tramp  —  for  tramp  he  was  —  explained  that  he 
was  an  Englishman  and  in  a  bad  way.  He 
had  been  at  Perugia  with  a  circus  which  had 
little  or  no  success,  and  the  rascally  French- 
man who  managed  it  had  broken  up  and  made 
off,  leaving  him  with  nothing.  He  was  now 
on  his  way  to  Florence,  where  he  wanted  to  be 
taken  on  by  Prince  Strozzi,  who  kept  English 
jockeys.  But  in  the  mean  time  he  was  hun- 
gry  and  had  no  money,  and  must  tramp  it  all 
the  way.  J.  bethought  him  of  the  card  to  the 
gentleman  of  Cortona  who  had  married  an 
English  wife.  We  had  not  used  it,  and  it 
seemed  a  pity  to  waste  it.  The  English  lady 
doubtless  would  be  glad  of  an  opportunity 
to  help  a  countryman.     So  he  gave  it  to  the 


126  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

tramp,  together  with  a  franc  for  his  immediate 
wants.  The  latter  looked  at  the  money.  He 
supposed  he  could  do  something  with  it,  he 
grumbled.  He  really  was  grateful,  however, 
for  he  offered  to  push  the  machine  up  a  hill 
down  which  he  had  just  walked.  But  J.  tell- 
ing him  to  hurry  on,  engaged  instead  the  servi- 
ces of  a  small  boy  who  was  going  his  way.  For 
pay,  he  gave  the  child  a  coast  down  the  other 
side  into  his  native  village,  than  which  soldi 
could  not  have  been  sweeter.  Did  not  all  his 
playmates  see  him  ride  by  in  his  pride  ? 

Arriving  in  Perugia,  J.  himself  was  a  hero 
for  a  time.  Many  officers  with  their  wives 
were  in  the  station,  and  in  their  curiosity  so 
far  forgot  their  usual  dignity  as  to  surround 
him  and  pester  him  with  questions  as  to  his 
whence  and  whither  and  what  speed  he  could 
make. 

It  is  a  long  way  from  the  station  up  the 
mountain  to  the  town,  but  we  went  faster  than 
we  ever  climbed  mountain  before,  for  we  tied 
the  tricycle  to  the  back  of  the  diligence.  J. 
rode  and  steered  it,  but  I  sat  inside,  ending  my 
day's  journey  as  I  had  begun  it,  in  common- 


'''i- 


m  m  \ 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  127 

place  fashion.  The  driver  was  full  of  admira- 
tion. We  must  go  to  Terni  on  our  velocipede, 
he  said ;  in  the  mountains  beyond  Spoleto  we 
should  go  down-hill  for  seven  miles.  Ecco  I 
no  need  of  a  diligence  then! 


AT    PERUGIA. 

^^  And  did  see  such  things  there ^ 
the  retnei7ibrance  of  which  will 
stick  by  7ne  as  long  as  I  livey 

nnHE  padrone  of  the  Albergo  at  Perugia 
-■-  was  a  man  of  parts.  He  could  speak 
English.  When  we  complimented  him  on  a 
black  cat  which  was  always  in  his  office,  he 
answered,  with  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and 
pausing  between  each  word  like  a  child  saying 
its  lesson  :  "  Yes-it-is-a-good-cat.  I-have- 
one-dog-and-four-cats.  This-cat-is-the-fath- 
er-of-the-oth-er-cats.  One-are-red-and-three 
-is-white."  And  when  we  had  occasion  to  thank 
him,  he  knew  enough  to  tell  us  we  were  very 
much  obliged. 

But  we  gave  him  small  chance  to  display 
his  powers.  There  was  little  to  keep  us  in  the 
Albergo,  when,  after  a  few  minutes'  walk  we 
could  be  in  the  piazza,  where  the  sun  shone  on 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  129 

Pisano's  fountain,  and  on  the  Palazzo  of  the 
BagHoni  and  the  Duomo  opposite.  But  what 
a  fall  was  there  !  A  couple  of  gendarmes, 
priests  walking  two  by  two,  a  few  beggars, 
were  the  only  people  we  saw  in  this  broad 
piazza,  where  at  one  time  men  and  women, 
driven  to  frenzy  by  the  words  of  Saint  Bernar- 
dino, spoken  from  the  pulpit  by  the  Duomo 
door,  almost  fell  into  the  fire  they  had  kindled 
to  burn  their  false  hair  and  ornaments,  their 
dice  and  cards ;  and  where  at  another  Bag- 
Honi fought,  with  the  young  Raphael  looking 
on  to  paint  later  one  at  least  of  the  comba- 
tants ;  and  where  the  beautiful  Grifonetto  lay 
in  death  agony,  the  avengers  of  his  murdered 
kinsmen  waiting  to  see  him  die,  the  heads  of 
his  fellow-assassins  looking  grimly  down  from 
the  Palazzo  walls,  and  Atalanta,  his  mother, 
giving  him  forgiveness  for  the  deed,  for  which 
but  yesterday  she  had  cursed  him.  In  the  aisles 
of  the  Duomo,  once  so  stained  with  the  blood  of 
the  Baglioni  that  they  had  to  be  purified  with 
wine  before  prayers  could  again  be  offered  in 
them,  a  procession  of  white-robed  priests  and 
acolytes,  bearing  cross  and  censer,  passed  from 

9 


130  Two   Pilgrims    Pivgress. 

one  chapel  to  another  before  a  congregation 
of  two  or  three  old  women.  It  was  the  same 
in  the  narrow  streets;  all  is  now  still  and 
peaceful  where  of  old  Baglioni,  single-handed, 
kept  back  the  forces  of  Oddi,  their  mortal  foes. 
Only  the  memory  of  their  fierceness  remains ; 
though  I  have  two  friends  who  say  that  in  the 
dark  street  behind  the  Palazzo,  where  brave 
Simonetto  and  Astore  fought  the  enemy  until 
corpses  lay  in  piles  around  them,  they  one 
night  heard  voices  singing  sadly,  as  if  in 
lamentation ;  and  these  voices  led  them  on- 
wards under  one  archway  and  then  another 
until  suddenly  the  sounds  ceased.  But  when 
they  turned  to  go  homewards,  lo !  they  had 
lost  their  way.  The  next  morning  they  re- 
turned that  they  might  by  daylight  see  whence 
the  music  could  have  come.  But  all  along  the 
street  was  a  dead  wall.  None  but  spirits  could 
have  sung  there ;  and  what  spirits  would  dare  to 
lift  their  voices  in  this  famous  street  but  those 
of  Baglioni } 

It  must  be  the  degeneracy  of  modern  w^ar- 
riors  that  sets  these  heroes  of  the  old  school 
to  singing  lamentations.     The  Grifonettos  and 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  131 

Astores  who  feasted  on  blood,  could  they 
come  back  to  life  and  their  native  town,  would 
have  little  sympathy  with  the  captains  and 
colonels  who  now  drink  tamarind-water  in  the 
caff^e,  booted  and  spurred  though  the  latter  be. 
The  caffe  is  everywhere  the  lounging-place 
of  Italian  officers,  but  in  Perugia  it  seemed  to 
be  their  headquarters.  There  was  one  on  the 
Corso,  a  few  doors  from  the  Palazzo,  which 
they  specially  patronized.  They  were  there 
in  the  morning  even  before  the  shops  were 
opened,  and  again  at  noon,  and  yet  again  in 
the  evening,  while  at  other  times  they  walked 
to  and  fro  in  front  of  it,  as  if  on  guard.  But 
though  the  youngest  as  well  as  the  oldest  pat- 
ronized it,  the  distinctions  of  rank  between 
them  were  observed  as  scrupulously  as  Dickens 
says  they  are  with  the  Chatham  and  Rochester 
aristocracy.  The  colonel  associated  with  noth- 
ing lower  than  a  major,  the  latter  in  turn  draw- 
ing the  line  at  the  captain,  and  so  it  went 
down  to  the  third  lieutenant,  who  lorded  it 
only  over  the  common  soldier.  On  the  whole, 
I  think  the  lesser  officers  had  the  best  of  it ; 
for  whether  they  eat  cakes  and  drank  sweet 


132  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

drinks,  or  played  cards,  they  were  always 
sociable  and  merry.  Whereas,  sometimes  the 
colonel  sat  solitary  in  his  grandeur,  silent 
except  for  the  few  words  with  the  boy  selling 
matches  as  he  hunted  through  the  stock  to 
find  a  box  with  a  pretty  picture. 

We  were  long  enough  in  Perugia  to  carry 
the  Abates  letters  to  San  Pietro.  The  monks 
to  whom  they  were  written  were  away,  but  a 
third  came  in  their  place  and  gave  us  wel- 
come. He  showed  J.  the  inner  cloister,  to 
which  I  could  not  go :  women  were  not  al- 
lowed there.  It  was  because  of  my  skirts,  he 
said ;  and  yet  he  too  wore  skirts,  and  he  spread 
out  his  cassock  on  each  side.  While  they 
were  gone  I  waited  in  the  church.  I  wonder 
if  ghostly  voices  are  never  heard  within  it. 
The  monks,  long  dead,  whose  love  and  even 
life  it  was  to  make  it  beautiful  until  its  walls 
and  ceilings  were  rich  and  glowing,  its  choir  a 
miracle  of  carving,  and  its  sacristy  hung  with 
prayer-inspiring  pictures,  have,  like  the  Bag- 
lioni,  cause  to  bewail  the  degenerate  latter  day. 
The  beauty  they  created  now  lives  but  for  the 
benefit  of  a  handful  of  monks  whose  monas- 


Two   Pilgrims^   Progress,  133 

tery  is  turned  into  a  Boys'  Agricultural  School, 
and  for  the  occasional  tourist.  Later  from  the 
high  terrace  of  the  park  opposite  San  Pietro 
we  saw  the  boys  in  their  blue  blouses  digging 
and  hoeing  in  the  fields  under  the  olives,  where 
probably  the  monks  themselves  once  worked. 
There  is  in  this  little  park  an  amphitheatre 
with  archway,  bearing  the  Perugian  griffin  in 
the  centre.  It  is  shaded  by  dense  ilex-trees, 
from  whose  branches  a  raven  must  once  have 
croaked ;  for  evil  has  come  upon  the  place,  as 
it  has  upon  the  gray  monastery  so  near.  In- 
stead of  nobles  and  men-at-arms  and  council- 
lors of  state,  two  or  three  poor  women  with 
their  babies  sat  on  the  stone  benches  gossip- 
ing. And  as  we  lingered  there  in  the  late 
afternoon  there  came  from  San  Pietro  the 
sound,  not  of  monks  chanting  vespers,  but  of 
some  one  playing  the  "  Blue  Danube  "  on  an 
old  jingling  piano.  Only  the  valley  below, 
and  the  Tiber  winding  through  it,  and  the 
mountains  beyond  are  unchanged. 


ACROSS  THE  TIBER  TO  ASSISI. 

"  Attd  I  slept  ami  dreamed  again 
and  saw  the  same  two  pilgrims  go- 
ing dow7i  the  mountains  along  the 
highway  towards  the  city^ 

'X  X  rHEN  we  left  Perugia  in  the  early  morn- 
'  ing  we  passed  first  by  the  statue  of 
Julius  II.,  thus  receiving,  we  said  to  each  other, 
the  bronze  pontiff's  benediction.  We  imag- 
ined this  to  be  an  original  idea ;  but  it  is  use- 
less to  try  to  be  original.  Since  then  we  have 
remembered  the  same  thought  came  to  Miriam 
and  Donatello  when  they  made  the  statue 
their  trysting-place.  Then  we  rode  through 
the  piazza,  where  a  market  was  being  held,  and 
where  at  one  end  a  long  row  of  women  holding 
baskets  of  eggs  stood  erect,  though  all  around 
other  women  and  even  men,  selling  fruits  and 
vegetables,  sat  comfortably  on  low  stools. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  Porta  Romana  we 
saw  that  while  Perugia  was  bright  and  clear  in 


The  Bronze  Pontiff's  Benediction,  Perugia. 

Page  134. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  135 

the  sunlight,  a  thick  white  mist  covered  the 
valley,  so  that  it  looked  as  if  a  great  lake, 
bounded  by  the  mountains,  lay  below.  The 
chrysanthemums  and  marigolds,  hanging  over 
high  garden  walls,  and  the  grass  by  the  road- 
side glistened  with  dew.  Shining  silver  cob- 
webs hung  on  the  hedges.  Before  many 
minutes,  so  fast  did  we  go,  we  were  riding 
right  into  the  mist.  We  could  see  but  a  few 
feet  in  front  of  us,  and  the  olives  on  either  side, 
through  the  heavy  white  veil,  looked  like  spec- 
tres. We  passed  no  one  but  a  man  carrying  a 
lantern  and  a  cage  of  owls.  It  seemed  but 
natural  that  so  uncanny  a  ride  should  lead  to  a 
home  of  shadows.  And  when  we  came  to  the 
tomb  of  the  Volumnii  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain we  left  the  tricycle  without,  and  went  down 
for  a  while  into  its  darkness  and  damp.  When 
we  came  out  the  mist  had  disappeared  and  the 
road  lay  through  sunshine. 

A  little  farther  on  we  had  our  first  near 
view  of  the  Tiber.  We  crossed  it  by  the  old 
Ponte  San  Giovanni,  so  narrow  that  there 
was  not  room  for  us  to  pass  a  boy  and  a 
donkey  just  in  front.      J.  called,  and  the  boy 


136  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

pushed  his  donkey  close  to  the  stone  wall ;  but 
for  all  that  we  could  not  pass.  Even  as  J. 
called  he  was  stopped  by  a  sudden  sharp  pain 
in  his  side,  the  result  probably  of  his  descent 
into  the  tomb  while  he  was  still  warm ;  for  he 
had  back-pedalled  coming  down  the  mountain. 
And  so  we  waited  for  many  minutes  on  the 
bridge  to  see,  not  the  yellow  Tiber  one  always 
hears  about,  but  a  river  blue  in  mid-stream, 
white  where  it  came  running  over  the  mill- 
wheel  and  down  the  dam,  and  red  and  yellow 
and  green  where  it  reflected  the  poplars  and 
oaks,  and  the  skirts  and  handkerchiefs  of  the 
women  washing  on  its  banks.  But  after  the 
bridge  we  left  the  river,  for  we  were  bound  for 
Assisi.  We  had  a  quiet,  peaceful  ride  for  sev- 
eral miles  on  the  Umbrian  plain,  where  in  the 
old  times  no  one  dared  to  go  without  the  per- 
mission of  the  Baglioni,  between  vineyards  and 
fields  where  men  were  ploughing,  and  through 
insignificant  little  villages,  until  we  came  out 
upon  the  large  piazza  in  front  of  Santa  Maria 
degli  Angeli.  It  was  crowded  with  peasants, 
for  market  was  just  over,  and  there  came  from 
every  side  the  sound  of  many  voices.     When 


x'^ 


Two   Pilgrijns    Progress.  137 

we  rode  by  we  were  surrounded  at  once,  two 
or  three  men  keeping  close  to  our  side  to  sing 
the  praises  of  the  hotels  at  Assisi  and  shower 
their  cards  upon  us.  They  pursued  us  even 
into  the  church,  and  as  far  as  the  little  hermi- 
tage beneath  the  dome,  to  tell  us  that  each 
and  all  could  speak  English. 

If  the  Umbrians  about  Assisi  were  always 
like  this,  Saint  Francis  was  a  wise  man  to  hide 
himself  in  the  woods  and  make  friends  with 
beasts  and  birds.  Over  the  sunny  roads  be- 
yond Santa  Maria,  where  he  and  Fra  Egidio 
walked  singing  and  exhorting  men  and  women 
to  repentance,  we  wheeled  imploring,  or  rather 
commanding,  them  to  get  out  of  the  way.  It 
was  a  hard  pull  up  the  mountain-side,  the 
harder  because  the  great  monastery  on  its  high 
foundations  seemed  always  so  far  above  us. 
When  almost  at  the  city  gate  a  monk  in  brown 
robes,  the  knotted  cord  about  his  waist,  passed. 
He  stopped  to  look,  but  it  was  with  a  frown  of 
disapproval ;  I  think  Saint  Francis  would  have 
smiled. 


AT  ASSISI. 

"  Methoiight  these  things  did  rav- 
ish my  heart  J  I  would  have  stayed 
at  that  man's  house  a  twelvetnonth 
but  that  I  knew  I  had  farther 
to  go:' 

TT  was  just  noon  when  we  reached  Assisi,  but 
•*■  we  rode  no  more  that  day.  We  spent  the 
afternoon  in  the  town  of  Saint  Francis.  The 
Albergo  we  selected  from  the  many  recom- 
mended was  without  the  large  cloisters  of  the 
monastery.  The  waiter  at  once  remembered 
that  J.  had  been  there  before,  though  eighteen 
months  had  passed  since  his  first  visit.  The 
Signore  had  two  ladies  with  him  then,  he  said. 
He  was  delighted  with  the  velocipede.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  all  his  life  he  had  seen  one 
with  three  wheels.  Nothing  would  do  but  he 
must  show  us  the  finest  road  to  Rome.  He 
spread  our  map  on  the  table  as  we  eat  our  din- 
ner, and  put  on  his  glasses, — for  he  was  a  little 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  139 

bad  in  the  eyes,  he  explained,  —  and  then  he 
pointed  out  the  very  route  we  had  already  de- 
cided upon.  Ecco  !  here,  between  Spoleto  and 
Terni,  we  should  have  a  long  climb  up  the 
mountain,  but  then  there  would  be  seven  miles 
down  the  other  side.  Ah!  that  would  be  fine! 
This  long  coast  to  Terni  was  clearly  to  make 
up  for  the  hardships  we  already  had  endured 
on  toilsome  up-grades. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  the  church.  Goethe, 
when  he  was  in  Assisi,  saw  the  old  Roman 
Temple  of  Minerva,  —  and  then,  that  his  pleas- 
ure in  it  might  not  be  disturbed,  refused  to  look 
at  anything  else  in  the  town,  and  went  quickly 
on  his  way.  But  when  I  passed  out  of  the  sun- 
light into  the  dark  lower  church  and  under  the 
low  rounded  arches  to  the  altar  with  Giotto's 
angels  and  saints  above,  it  seemed  to  me  he 
was  the  loser  by  his  great  •  love  for  classic 
beauty.  Many  who  have  been  to  this  wonder- 
ful church  have  written  descriptions  of  it,  but 
none  have  really  told,  and  indeed  no  one  can 
ever  tell,  how  wonderful  it  is.  The  upper 
church,  with  its  great  lofty  nave  and  many  win- 
dows through  which  the  light  streams  in  on 


140  Two   Pilgri7ns    Progress, 

the  bright  frescoed  walls,  is  beautiful.  But  this 
lower  one,  with  its  dark,  subdued  color  and  dim 
light,  and  the  odor  of  incense  which  always  lin- 
gers in  it,  is  like  the  embodiment  of  the  mys- 
tery and  love  that  inspired  the  saint  in  whose 
honor  it  was  built.  In  it  one  understands,  for 
the  first  time  perhaps,  what  it  is  for  which 
the  followers  of  Saint  Francis  gave  up  life  and 
action.  Whoever  was  long  under  the  influ- 
ence of  this  place  must,  I  thought,  always  stay, 
—  like  the  old  gray-haired  monk  we  saw  kneel- 
ing before  a  side  altar  rapt  in  contemplation. 
And  yet  on  the  very  threshold  we  found  three 
or  four  brothers  laughing  and  joking  with  two 
women, —  Italian  Dr.  Mary  Walkers  they  must 
have  been,  for  they  wore  men's  collars  and 
cravats  and  coats,  with  field-glasses  slung  over 
their  shoulders,  and  stiff  gray  hats,  and  they 
were  smoking  long  sigare  Cavour,  They  were 
artists,  and  had  been  painting,  oh,  so  badly !  in 
the  church  all  the  morning. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  we  left  the  mon- 
astery and  walked  through  the  streets,  now 
silent  and  deserted,  where  Francis  in  his  gay 
youth  wandered  with  boon  companions,  singing 


Two  Pilgrims'   Progress.  141 

not  hymns  but  love-songs.  A  small  boy  came 
and  walked  with  us,  and,  unbidden,  acted  as  our 
guide.  Here  was  the  Duomo,  he  said,  and 
here  the  Church  of  Santa  Chiara ;  and,  when  we 
were  on  the  road  without  the  city  gate,  Ecco  ! 
below,  Santa  Maria  degli  Angeli !  For  from 
where  we  stood  we  looked  down  upon  the 
huge  church  rising  from  the  plain,  where  even 
now  there  are  scarcely  more  houses  than  in  the 
days  when  Franciscans,  coming  from  far  and 
near  to  hold  counsel  with  their  founder,  built 
their  straw  huts  upon  it.  Our  self-appointed 
guide  was  a  bright  little  fellow,  and  never  once 
begged  like  the  other  children  who  followed  us. 
So  when  he  showed  us  the  road  to  Foliofno 
where  we  must  ride  on  the  morrow,  J.  gave 
him  a  sou.  At  the  door  of  the  Albergo  he 
said  he  must  go  home,  but  not  to  supper;  he 
never  had  any.  He  asked  at  what  time  w^e 
should  leave  in  the  morning,  when  he  would 
like  to  come  and  say  good-by.  Felice  notte  — 
"a  happy  night"  —  were  his  last  words  as  he 
turned  away. 


VIRGIL'S  COUNTRY. 


^'Ifwe  have  such  ill  speed  at  our 
first  setting  out,  what  may  we  ex- 
pect betwixt  this  atid  our  journeys 
end!'' 


T^HE  next  morning,  with  a  select  company 
^  of  ragged  boys,  our  young  guide  arrived 
in  time  to  see  us  start.  When  I  came  out 
he  nodded  in  a  friendly  way,  as  if  to  an  old 
acquaintance,  to  the  wonder  and  admiration  of 
the  other  youngsters.  The  waiter,  his  glasses 
on,  came  to  the  gate  with  us.  Two  monks 
standing  there  asked  how  far  we  were  going 
on  our  velocipede.  "  To  Rome  }  "  they  cried. 
"Why,  then,  here  are  two  pilgrims  and  two 
priests  !  "  Our  guide  and  his  friend  ran  down 
the  mountain-side  after  us  until  we  gave  the 
former  another  sou,  when  they  at  once  dis- 
appeared. It  seemed  a  little  ungrateful ;  but 
I   did    not   give    him    much   thought,  for  just 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  143 

then  J.  bade  me  back-pedal  with  all  my  might. 
The  machine  went  very  fast,  despite  my  hard 
work,  and  to  my  surprise  J.  suddenly  steered 
into  a  stone-pile  by  the  roadside.  "  The  brake 
is  broken ! "  was  his  explanation  as  we  slowly 
upset. 

Fortunately,  however,  the  upright  connecting 
the  band  of  the  brake  with  the  handle  had  only 
slipped  out  of  place,  and  though  we  could  not 
fix  it  in  again  securely,  J.  could  still  manage 
to  use  it.  This,  so  far  as  we  could  see,  was  the 
one  defect  in  our  tricycle,  but  defect  it  was. 
A  nut  on  the  end  of  the  upright  would  have 
prevented  such  an  accident.  But  this  is  one  of 
the  minor  particulars  in  which  tricycle-makers 
—  and  we  have  tried  many  —  are  careless. 
We  had  the  rest  of  the  coast  without  interrup- 
tion. Half-way  down,  our  little  friend  and  his 
followers  ran  out  from  under  the  olives ;  he  had 
taken  a  short  cut  that  he  might  see  us  again. 

From  Assisi  to  Terni  was  a  long  day's  ride 
by  towns  and  villages,  through  fair  valleys  and 
over  rough  mountains.  From  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  at  Assisi,  past  Monte  Subasio,  which, 
bare  and  rocky,  towered  above  the  lower  olive- 


144  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

covered  hills,  the  road  was  level  until  we  rode 
by  Spello  with  its  old  Roman  gateway  and 
ruined  amphitheatre.  But  the  hill  here  was 
not  steep,  and  then  again  there  came  a  level 
stretch  into  Foligno,  the  first  lowland  town  to 
which  we  had  come  since  we  left  Poggibonsi, 
and  which,  with  its  mass  of  roofs  and  lofty  dome 
rising  high  above  the  city  walls,  looked  little 
like  the  Foligno  in  Raphael's  picture.  Already 
in  our  short  ride  —  for  it  is  but  ten  miles  from 
Assisi  to  Foligno  —  we  noticed  a  great  dif- 
ference in  the  people.  It  was  not  only  that 
many  of  the  w^omen  wore  bodices  and  long  ear- 
rings, and  turned  their  handkerchiefs  up  on 
top  of  their  heads,  but  they,  and  the  men  as 
well,  were  less  polite  and  more  stupid  than 
the  Tuscans  or  Umbrians  about  Perusria. 

Few  spoke  to  us,  and  one  woman  to  whom 
we  said  good-morning  was  so  startled  that  she 
thanked  us  in  return,  as  if  unused  to  such 
civilities.  For  all  J.'s  shouts  of  a  destra  —  to 
the  right  —  and  Eccomi  !  they  would  not  make 
room  for  us ;  and  now  in  Foligno  one  woman, 
in  her  stupidity  or  obstinacy,  walked  directly 
in  front  of  the   machine,  and  when  the   little 


Two  Pilgrimi   Progress,  145 

wheel  caught  her  dress,  through  no  fault  of 
ours,  cried  ''  Accidente  voi!''  —  the  vol,  instead 
of  le,  being  a  far  greater  insult  than  the  wish- 
ing us  an  accident.  Then  she  walked  on, 
cursing  in  loud  voice,  down  the  street,  by  the 
little  stream  that  runs  through  the  centre  of 
the  town,  and  into  the  market-place  where 
Saint  Francis,  in  mistaken  obedience  to  words 
heard  in  ecstasy,  sold  the  cloth  he  had  taken 
from  his  father  that  he  might  have  money 
to  rebuild  the  church  of  San   Damiano. 

Even  the  beasts  we  met  were  stupid  as  the 
people.  At  our  coming,  horses,  donkeys,  and 
oxen  tried  to  run.  We  therefore  looked  for  at 
least  a  skirmish  when,  beyond  Foligno,  a  regi- 
ment of  cavalry  in  marching  order  advanced 
upon  us.  But  the  soldiers  stood  our  charge 
bravely.  Only  the  officer  was  routed  and  re- 
treated into  the  gutter.  Then,  forgetting 
military  discipline,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
his  men  to  see  us  ride. 

We  were  now  on  the  old  Via  Flaminia 
and  in  the  valley  of  the  Clitumnus,  —  Virgil's 
country.  The  poet's  smiling  fields  and  tall, 
stiff  oaks,  his  white  oxen  and  peasants  behind 

10 


146  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

the  plough  or  enjoying  the  cool  shade,  were  on 
either  side.  Crossing  the  fields  were  many 
stony  beds  of  streams,  dry  at  this  season,  lined 
with  oaks  and  chestnuts,  under  whose  shade 
women  were  filling  large  baskets  with  acorns 
and  leaves.  The  upturned  earth  was  rich  and 
brown.  Through  the  trees  or  over  them  we 
saw  the  whitish-blue  sky,  the  purple  mountains, 
some  pointed  like  pyramids,  and  the  gray  olive 
hills  with  little  villages  in  their  hollows,  and 
before  long  Trevi  on  its  high  hill-top.  And 
then  we  came  to  the  temple  of  the  river  god 
Clitumnus,  of  which  Pliny  writes,  and  where 
the  little  river,  in  which  Virgil  says  the  white 
flocks  for  the  sacrifice  bathed,  runs  below,  an 
old  mill  on  its  bank  and  one  willow  bendino: 
over  it. 

At  the  village  of  Le  Vene,  near  the  source 
of  the  stream,  we  stopped  at  a  wine-shop  to 
eat  some  bread  and  cheese.  There  was  no 
one  there  but  the  padrone  and  a  dwarf  who 
wore  a  decent  suit  of  black  clothes  and  had  a 
medallion  of  the  Pope  on  his  watch-chain.  He 
had  come  in  a  carnage  which  waited  for  him 
at  the  door.     I  think  he  was  a  drummer.     He 


> 

< 

o 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  147 

drank  much  wine,  and  spoke  to  us  in  a  vile 
patois.  Indeed,  the  people  thereabout  all 
spoke  in  dialects  worse,  I  am  sure,  than  any 
Dante  heard  at  the  mouth  of  Hell.  The  dwarf 
had  travelled,  and  had  been  in  Florence,  where 
he  had  seen  a  velocipede,  but  not  like  ours.  It 
was  finer,  or  perhaps  he  should  say  more  com- 
modious. The  seats  were  side  by  side,  and  it 
had  an  umbrella  attached,  and  it  was  worked 
by  the  hands.  It  went,  oh,  so  fast!  and  he  inti- 
mated that  we  could  not  hope  to  rival  its  speed. 
I  suppose  our  machine  without  an  umbrella 
seemed  to  him  like  a  ship  without  a  sail.  But 
1  think  he  had  another  tale  to  tell  when,  ten 
minutes  later,  he  having  started  before  we  did, 
we  passed  him  on  the  road.  We  were  going 
so  fast  I  only  had  time  to  see  that  in  his  won- 
der the  reins  fell  from  his  hands. 

Then  came  the  small,  wretched  village  of  . 
San  Giacomo,  with  its  old  castle  built  up  with 
the  houses  of  the  poor,  and  then  Spoleto,  where 
we  lunched  in  a  trattoria  of  the  people  which  - 
was  much  troubled  by  a  plague  of  flies.  A 
company  of  Bersaglieri,  red  caps  on  the  backs 
of  their  heads  and  blue  tassels  dangling  down 


i^S  Two   Pilgrims^   Progress, 

their  backs,  sat  at  one  table,  ordering  with 
much  merriment  their  soup  and  meat  and 
macaroni  to  be  cooked  a  la  B er sag  Here ;  at 
another,  two  young  men  were  evidently  enjoy- 
ing an  unwonted  feast ;  and  at  the  table  with 
us  were  three  peasants,  one  of  whom  had 
brought  his  bread  in  his  pocket :  he  eat  his 
soup  for  dessert,  and  throughout  the  meal  used 
his  own  knife  in  preference  to  the  knife  and 
fork  laid  at  his  place.  Two  dogs,  a  cat,  and 
a  hen  wandered  in  from  the  piazza  and  dined 
on  the  bits  of  macaroni  dropped  by  the  not 
over-careful  soldiers.  The  waiter  greeted  us 
cordially.  He  too  had  a  machine,  he  said,  but 
had  never  heard  of  velocipedes  with  three 
wheels.  His  had  but  two ;  the  Signore  must 
see  it.  And  before  he  would  listen  to  our 
order  for  lunch,  he  showed  J.  his  bicycle, — 
a  bone-shaker.  He  was  very  proud  of  it. 
He  had  ridden  as  far  as  Terni.  Ah !  what 
a  beautiful  time  we  should  have  before  the 
afternoon  was  over!  Seven  miles  down  the 
mountain ! 

The  thought  of  this   coast   made    us    leave 
Spoleto   with    light   hearts,   though    we    knew 


Two   Pilgrims'   Progress,  149 

that  first  must  come  a  hard  climb.  But  if  the 
road  was  as  perfect  as  it  had  been  all  the  morn- 
ing, there  was  not  much  to  dread.  It  was 
half-past  two  when  we  started  from  the  trat- 
toria, but  we  were  fifteen  minutes  in  walking 
to  the  other  end  of  the  town.  There  was  no 
use  riding.  The  streets  were  narrow  and  steep, 
and  crowded  with  stupid  men  and  women  and 
donkeys,  and  with  officers  who  instead  of  control- 
ling were  controlled  by  their  horses.  Beyond 
the  gate  the  ascent  at  first  was  gradual  and  we 
rode  easily,  even  as  we  worked  looking  back 
to  the  famous  old  aqueduct  and  the  shadowy 
heights  of  Norcia.  For  some  distance  we  went 
by  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  wide  stream,  meeting 
many  priests  on  foot  and  peasants  on  donkeys. 
But  as  the  way  became  steeper  we  left  the 
stream  far  below,  and  came  into  a  desolate 
country,  where  the  mountains  were  covered 
with  scrub-oaks,  and  priests  and  peasants  dis- 
appeared ;  only  one  old  man  kept  before  us, 
making  short  cuts  up  the  mountain-side,  but 
after  a  while  he  too  rode  out  of  sight. 

We   soon  gave  up  riding.      J.   tied   a  rope 
to   the    tricycle   and    pulled    while    I    pushed. 


150  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

The  sun  was  now  hidden  behind  the  moun- 
tain and  the  way  was  shady.  But  still  it  was 
warm  work  and  wearisome;  for  before  long 
the  road  became  almost  perpendicular  and  was 
full  of  loose  stones.  How  much  more  of  this 
was  there,  we  asked  a  woman  watching  swine 
on  the  hillside?  "A  mile,"  was  her  answer; 
and  yet  she  must  have  known  there  were  at 
least  three.  Finally,  after  what  seemed  hours 
of  toiling,  we  asked  another  peasant  standing 
in  front  of  a  lonely  farm-house  how  much 
farther  it  still  was  to  the  top.  "  You  are 
here  now,"  she  said.  She  at  least  was  truth- 
ful. A  few  feet  more,  and  we  looked  down 
a  road  as  precipitous  as  that  up  which  we 
had  come,  and  so  winding  that  we  could  see 
short  stretches  of  it,  like  so  many  terraces, 
all  the  way  down  the  mountain.  We  walked 
for  about  a  hundred  yards,  and  it  was  as  hard 
to  hold  back  the  machine  as  before  it  had 
been  to  push  it.  Then  we  began  to  ride,  but 
the  strain  on  the  brake  loosened  the  handle 
a  second  time.  We  dismounted,  and  J.  tried 
to  push  it  back  into  place :  it  snapped  in 
two  pieces  in  his  hands.     Here  we  were,  eight 


Two   Pilgrims'   Progress,  151 

miles  from  Terni,  in  a  lonely  mountain  road 
in  the  evening,  —  the  sun  had  already  set, — 
with  a  brakeless  machine,  which,  if  allowed 
to  start  down-hill  with  its  heavy  load  of  two 
riders  and  much  baggage,  would  soon  be  more 
unmanageable  than  a  runaway  horse.  The 
seven  miles'  coast  to  which  we  had  looked 
forward  for  days,  was  to  be  a  walk  after  all. 
Like  the  King  of  France  and  his  twenty 
thousand  men,  we  had  marched  up  the  moun- 
tain that  we  might  march  down  again.  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  we  both  lost  our  tempers, 
and  that  an  accident  was  the  smallest  evil 
we  wished  the  manufacturers  of  our  tricycle.'^ 
Because  they  cared  more  for  lightness  than 
for  strength,  —  since  record-making  is  as  yet 
the  chief  end  of  the  cycling,  —  the  necks  of 
people  who  ride  for  pleasure  are  forsooth  to 
be  risked  with  impunity! 

However,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
walk  into  Terni.  It  was  very  cold,  and  we 
had  to  put  on  our  heavy  coats.  Presently  the 
moon  rose  above  the  mountains  on  our  left. 
By  its  light  we  could  see  the  white  road, — 
now  provokingly  good,  but  steep  and  winding 


152  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

and  all  unknown,  —  the  hills  that  shut  us  in  on 
every  side,  and,  far  below,  the  stream  making 
its  way  through  the  narrow  pass.  The  way 
was  unpleasantly  lonely  and  silent.  Now  for 
an  hour  or  more  we  went  wearily  on  without 
hearing  a  sound  but  our  steady  tramp;  and 
now  we  passed  a  farm-house  within  which  many 
voices  were  raised  in  anger,  while  from  the 
barn  a  dog  barked  savagely  upon  our  coming. 
At  times  we  thouo^ht  we  saw  in  the  distance 
a  castle  with  tall  towers  or  an  old  ruin,  but 
when  we  drew  near  we  found  in  its  place  great 
rocks  and  cliffs  of  tufa.  Once  we  went  through 
a  small  village.  The  way  here  was  not  so  steep, 
and  for  a  few  minutes  we  rode.  Just  beyond 
the  houses  three  men,  drivins:  home  a  lar<Te 
white  bull,  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
J.  shouted,  that  they  might  give  us  more  space 
to  pass;  but  they  only  laughed,  and  tried  to 
set  the  bull  on  us  with  loud  cries  of  Via ! 
Before  the  last  died  away  we  were  walking 
again. 

On  and  on  we  walked,  all  the  time  hold- 
ing back  the  tricycle.  But  at  last  we  began 
to    meet  more   people.     Men    with  carts  and 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  153 

donkeys  went  by  at  long  intervals,  but  they 
spake  never  a  word,  and  we  too  were  silent. 
Now  and  then  we  heard  the  near  tinkling  of 
cow-bells,  and  came  to  olive-gardens,  where  in 
the  moonlight  the  black  twisted  trunks  took 
grotesque  goblin  shapes,  and  the  branches  threw 
a  network  of  shadows  across  our  path.  Then 
we  came  to  a  railroad,  and  we  knew  we  were 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  that  Terni 
was  not  far  off.  We  were  at  the  end  of  the 
seven,  miles'  coast  and  could  ride  again.  Two 
men  just  then  coming  our  way,  J.  asked  them 
how  far  we  were  from  the  town ;  but  they 
stood  still  and  stared  for  answer.  A  second 
time  he  asked,  and  still  they  were  speechless. 
"  Imbecile  I "  he  cried,  and  we  left  them  there 
dumb  and  motionless.  Not  far  beyond  the 
road  divided,  and  on  either  side  were  a  few 
houses.  A  woman  (or  a  fiend  in  female  form) 
sat  in  front  of  one.  "  Which  is  the  way  to 
Terni  ?  "  we  asked.  She  was  silent.  Once 
more  we  asked.  Chi  lo  sa  ?  —  "  Who  knows }  " 
—  she  answered.  This  was  more  than  tired 
human  nature  could  endure ;  J.  turned  upon 
her  with  a  volley  of  choice  Italian  abuse.     It 


154  Two   Pilgrims'   Progress, 

conquered  her  as  the  prayers  of  Saint  Anthony 
vanquished  her  sister  demons.  She  arose  and 
meekly  showed  us  the  way. 

In  another  minute  the  lights  of  Terni  were 
in  sight.  Then  we  wheeled  by  a  foundry  with 
great  furnace  in  full  blast,  by  a  broad  avenue 
with  rows  of  gas-jets,  to  the  gates  of  the  city,  to 
find  them  shut.  There  was  a  second  of  de- 
spair, but  J.  was  now  not  to  be  trifled  with, 
and  he  gave  a  yell  of  command  which  was  an 
effectual  "open-sesame."  And  so  we  rode  on 
through  lively  streets  and  piazza  to  the  hotel, 
to  supper,  and  to  bed! 


TERNI    AND    ITS    FALLS. 

"  Well,  keep  all  things  so  in  thy 
mind,  that  they  may  be  as  a  goad  in 
thy  sides  to  prick  thee  forward  in 
the  way  thou  must  go.'''' 

"  IVhat  thing  so  deserving  as  to 
turn  us  out  of  the  way  to  see  it  ?  " 

I  KNOW  little  of  Terni,  except  that  in  the 
month  of  October  the  hotel  is  so  cold  that 
the  waiter  comes  into  the  dining-room  in  the 
morning  with  hat  on,  and  wrapped  in  overcoat 
and  muffler,  and  that  there  is  an  excellent 
blacksmith  in  the  town ;  for  the  next  morning, 
as  soon  as  J.  had  had  the  brake  mended,  he  paid 
the  bill  and  loaded  the  tricycle.  The  padro7ze 
was  surprised  at  the  shortness  of  our  stay. 
Did  we  not  know  there  were  waterfalls,  and 
famous  ones  too,  but  three  miles  distant  ?  We 
could  not  take  the  time  to  visit  them  ?  Well, 
then,  at  least  we  must  look  at  their  picture ; 
and   he   showed  us   a  chromo  pasted  on  the 


156  Two   Pilgrims    Progress, 

hotel  omnibus.  I  am  afraid  he  took  us  for  sad 
Philistines ;  but  the  fear  of  another  kind  of 
waterfall  was  still  a  goad  to  hurry  us  onward. 
Now  we  were  so  near  our  journey's  end,  no 
wonder,  however  great,  could  have  led  us  from 
the  straight  path. 


IN  THE   LAND  OF  BRIGANDS. 


"  But  by  this  place  Christian 
went  without  much  danger,  where- 
at I  somewhat  wondered.'''' 


'TPHERE  was  a  great  festa  that  day,  and 
-*-  all  along  the  street  and  out  on  the  coun- 
try road  we  met  men  and  women  in  holiday 
dress  carrying  baskets  and  bunches  and  wreaths 
of  pink  chrysanthemums.  In  Narni,  on  the 
heights  which  Martial  called  inaccessible,  men 
were  lounging  in  the  piazza  or  playing  cards 
in  the  caff^.  For  the  shepherds  alone  there 
was  no  rest  from  every-day  work.  Before  we 
reached  even  Narni,  but  ten  miles  across  the 
valley  from  Terni,  we  saw  several  driving  their 
sheep  and  goats  into  the  broad  meadows. 
They  wore  goat-skin  breeches,  and  by  that  sign 
alone  we  should  have  known  we  were  nearing 
Rome.  We  lunched  at  Narni  on  coffee  and 
cakes,  for  it  was  the  last  town  through  which 


158  Two   Pilgrims    Progress. 

we  should  pass  on  that  day's  ride.  It  was  here 
that  Ouintus,  in  its  Roman  prosperity,  stayed  so 
long  that  Martial  reproached  him  for  his  weari- 
some delay.  Could  he  come  to  it  now,  I  doubt 
if  his  friend  would  have  the  same  reason  for 
complaint.  It  did  not  seem  an  attractive  place, 
and  when  we  asked  a  man  about  the  country 
beyond,  he  said  it  was  "  brutoT  We  did  not 
learn  till  afterwards  that  this  applied  to  the 
people,  and  not  to  the  country,  and  that  here 
we  ought  to  have  been  briganded. 

We  were  now  high  up  on  the  mountain,  — 
on  one  side  steep  rocks,  on  the  other  a  deep 
precipice.  Far  below  in  a  narrow  valley  ran 
the  little  river  Nar,  and  on  the  bank  above  it 
the  railroad.  It  was  not  an  easy  road  to  travel, 
and  often  the  hills  were  too  steep  to  coast  or 
to  climb.  The  few  farm-houses  by  the  way 
were  closed,  for  the  peasants  had  gone  to 
church.  We  saw  an  occasional  little  gray 
town  crowning  the  top  of  sheer  gray  cliffs,  like 
those  in  Albert  Dlirer's  pictures,  or  an  old 
castle  either  deserted  or  else  with  farm-house 
built  in  its  ruins,  where  peasants  leaned  over 
the  battlemented  walls.     But  the  only  villages 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress,  159 

through  which  we  rode  were  Otricoli,  just  be- 
fore we  descended  to  the  valley  of  the  Tiber, 
where  we  created  so  great  a  sensation  that 
an  old  woman  selling  chestnuts  —  cooked,  I 
think,  by  a  previous  generation  —  was  at  first 
too  frightened  to  wait  on  us,  and  Borghet- 
to,  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  where  we 
saw  in  the  piazza  the  stage  from  Civita  Cas- 
tellana,  in  which  town  we  were  to  spend  the 
night. 

There  were  a  few  people  abroad.  In  the 
loneliest  part  of  the  mountain  an  old  man  in  a 
donkey-cart  kept  in  front  of  us  on  a  long  up- 
grade. Interested  in  the  tricycle,  he  forgot  the 
donkey,  which  gave  up  a  straight  for  a  spiral 
course,  and  monopolized  the  road.  J.  angrily 
asked  its  driver  which  side  he  meant  to  take. 
But  the  old  man  heaped  coals  of  fire  on  his 
head  by  offering  to  carry  us  up  in  his  wagon. 
After  we  left  him  far  behind,  we  passed  two 
travellers  resting  by  the  wayside.  Their  bags 
lay  on  the  ground,  and  they  looked  weary  and 
worn.  They  gave  us  good-day,  and  where  we 
w^ere  going  they  of  course  wanted  to  know. 
They  too  were  bound  for  Rome,  it  turned  out, 


i6o  Two  Pilgrims    Progress. 

and  had  come  from  Bologna.  After  the  two 
gentlemen  of  Bologna,  we  overtook  a  group  of 
merry  peasants,  coats  slung  over  their  shoul- 
ders for  no  possible  reason  but  the  sake  of 
picturesqueness,  and  hats  adorned  with  gay 
pompons  of  colored  paper  and  tinsel.  One 
carried  branches  of  green  leaves  and  red  fruit 
like  cherries,  and  as  we  went  by  he  gave  us  a 
branch  and  wished  us  a  good  journey.  Next 
went  by  an  old  woman,  who  said  witli  a 
smile  that  we  could  go  without  horse  or  don- 
key,—  a  witticism  heard  so  often  it  could 
no  longer  make  us  laugh.  And  then  a  little 
boy  all  alone  came  "  piping  down  the  valley 
wild." 

We  went  with  much  content  over  the  plain 
by  the  Tiber,  where  there  were  broad  grassy 
stretches  full  of  sheep  and  horses,  and  here  and 
there  the  shepherds'  gypsy-looking  huts.  It 
was  such  easy  work  now,  that  we  eat  our  chest- 
nuts as  we  rode;  but  beyond  the  bridge,  on 
which  Sixtus  V.  and  Clement  VIII.  and  Greg- 
ory XIII.,  in  true  papal  fashion,  have  left  their 
names,  the  hills  began  again.  On  we  toiled, 
beneath  shady  oaks  and  by  rocky  places,  until 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  i6i 

we  came  out  on  a  wide  upland.  From  the 
treeless  road  the  meadows  rolled  far  beyond  to 
high  mountains,  on  whose  sloping  side  the  blue 
smoke  of  charcoal-burners  curled  upward.  The 
moon  already  had  risen,  and  in  the  west  the 
setting  sun  filled  the  sky  with  glowing  amber 
light,  against  which  the  tired  peasants  going 
home  were  sharply  silhouetted. 

We  were  glad  to  see  Civita  Castellana.  One 
or  two  men  in  answer  to  our  questions  had 
told  us  we  were  close  to  it,  but  we  did  not  be- 
lieve them.  The  fields  seemed  to  stretch  for 
miles  before  us,  and  there  was  not  a  house  or 
tower  in  sight.  But  suddenly  the  road  turned 
and  went  down-hill,  and  there  below  was  the 
city  perched  on  tufa  cliffs,  a  deep  ravine  sur- 
rounding it.  Two  carabinieri,  in  cocked  hats 
and  folded  cloaks  like  the  famous  two  soli- 
tary horsemen,  were  setting  out  on  their  night, 
patrol.  Vespers  were  just  over  in  the  church 
near  the  bridge,  and  along  the  way  where 
happy  little  Etruscan  schoolboys  once  whipped 
homewards  their  treacherous  schoolmaster,  lit- 
tle Italian  boys  and  girls,  let  loose  from  church, 

ran  after  us,  torturing  us  with  their  shrill  cries. 

II 


1 62  Two  Pilgrims'  Progress, 

Soon  their  elders  joined  them,  and  we  were 
closely  beset  wdth  admirers.  The  town  too 
was  in  a  hubbub  about  us,  and  in  the  streets 
through  which  we  wheeled,  men  and  women 
came  from  their  houses  to  follow  in  our  train. 
At  the  door  of  the  Albergo,  where  we  were  de- 
tained for  several  minutes,  the  entire  population 
collected.  We  had  difficulty  in  getting  a  room. 
The  festa,  the  padrone  said,  had  brought  many 
country  people  into  the  town,  and  the  inns 
were  full  to  overflowing.  If  J.  would  go  with 
him  he  would  see  what  could  be  done  for  us. 
The  search  led  them  through  three  houses. 
In  the  mean  time  I  kept  guard  over  the  ma- 
chine. It  was  well  I  did,  for  once  J.  had  gone 
the  natives  closed  upon  me.  Toddling  infants 
and  gray-haired  men,  ragged  peasants  and  gor- 
geous officers  pushed  and  struggled  together 
in  their  desire  to  see.  Every  now  and  then  a 
stealthy  hand  was  thrust  through  the  crowd 
and  felt  the  tire  or  tried  the  brake.  I  turned 
from  left  to  right  crying,  "  Guarda  !  Guarda  ./" 
I  lifted  exploring  hands  from  the  wheels.  But 
in  vain.  What  was  one  against  so  many?  A 
man  sitting  in  the  doorway  took  pity  on  my 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  163 

sad  plight.  He  came  out,  and  with  a  stick 
mowed  the  people  back.  Then  J.  returned, 
having  found  a  room  in  the  first  house,  which 
the  padrone  had  thought  fit  to  conceal  until 
the  last. 


A   MIDDLING   INN. 

"  The  good  of  the  place  is  before 
you.'''' 

''''But  here  they  ta7-ried  and  slept,^'' 

TnHE  Albergo  of  Civita  Castellana  was  but 
-*•  a  middling  inn.  The /^^r<9«^,  in  English 
tweed,  high  boots,  and  Derby  hat,  looked  half 
cockney,  half  brigand.  His  wife  wore  an  elabo- 
rate false  front,  and  much  lace  about  her  neck. 
But  they  were  far  finer  than  their  house.  We 
were  lodged  in  the  garret,  in  a  room  the  size 
of  a  large  closet.  The  way  to  it  led  through 
another  bed-chamber,  long  and  low,  in  which 
four  cots  were  ranged  in  a  row  along  the  wall. 
When  we  crossed  it  on  the  way  downstairs  to 
dinner  I  devoutly  prayed  that  on  our  return 
four  nightcaps  would  not  be  nodding  on  the 
pillows.  Later  in  the  evening,  when  we  had 
dined,  we  strolled  out  to  the  piazza.  To  see 
the  life  of  an  Italian  town  you  have  only  to  go 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress,  165 

to  the  caff^.  We  went  to  one  near  the  Albergo. 
There  were  two  tables  in  it.  We  sat  at  the 
smaller,  and  at  the  other  were  four  ragged  boys 
playing  cards! 

Fortunately  we  w^ere  the  first  to  go  to  bed  in 
the  garret.  All  through  the  night,  however,  -^ 
for  the  mattress  was  hard  and  I  slept  little,  —  I 
heard  loud  snores  and  groans,  and  the  sound 
of  much  tossing  to  and  fro.  We  rose  early  in 
the  morning,  but  when  we  opened  our  door  the 
cots  were  empty,  though  they  had  not  been  so 
long. 


ACROSS  THE  CAMPAGNA. 

"  They  cotnpassed  them  7'ojcnd  on 
every  side  j  some  went  before^  some 
behind,  and  some  on  the  right,  some 
on  the  left:' 

"  Here  they  were  withiti  sight  of 
the  city  they  were  going  to,  also  here 
met  them  some  of  the  inhabitants 
thereof  .  •  .  and  drawing  near  the 
city  they  had  yet  a  juore  pofect  view 
thereof' 

TTARLY  as  we  were,  the  whole  town  was 
■*-^  stirrino-  when  we  came  dow^nstairs.  But 
who  ever  knew  the  hour  when  the  people  of  an 
Italian  town  were  not  up  and  abroad?  No 
sooner  did  J.  bring  the  tricycle  from  the  stable, 
where  it  had  been  kept  all  night,  to  the  Al- 
bergo,  than  the  piazza  was  again  crowded.  On 
they  all  came  with  us,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, hooting  and  shouting,  jumping  and  danc- 
ing through  the  vilely  paved  streets,  and  finally 
sprawling  over  the  walls  and  on  the  rocks  be- 
yond the  gate. 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  167 

There  they  stayed  until  we  had  gone  down 
the  hill  over  the  bridge,  crossing  the  stream  at 
its  foot,  and  up  the  hill  on  the  opposite  side, 
passing  from  their  sight  around  the  first  curve. 
Soon  we  were  on  an  upland  and  now  really  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Campagna.  The  morning 
was  cold.  For  many  miles  we  rode  through  a 
champaign  gleaming  white  with  frost.  But  as 
the  sun  rose  higher  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
yellow  light,  which  at  first  was  spread  over  the 
sky,  faded  and  left  a  clear  blue  expanse  above, 
the  air  grew  warmer  and  the  frost  disappeared. 
The  road  wound  on  and  on  between  oak  woods 
and  wide  cultivated  fields,  and  green  grassy 
plains  which  gradually  changed  into  great 
sweeps  of  rolling  treeless  country,  like  the 
moors.  By  the  roadside  were  thick  bushes  of 
low  green  sage  and  tangled  blackberries,  and 
in  places  the  broad  flagstones  of  the  old  Fla- 
minian  Way,  with  weeds  and  dandelions  and 
pretty  purple  flowers  growing  from  the  crev- 
ices. Sometimes  a  paving  of  smaller  stones 
stretched  all  across  the  road,  so  that  for  a 
minute  or  two  we  were  badly  shaken,  or  else, 
coming  on  them  suddenly  at  the  foot  of  a  hill, 


1 68  Two  Pilgrims'  Progress, 

all  but  upset.  Truly,  as  has  been  said,  it  could 
have  been  no  joke  for  the  old  Romans  to  ride.. 
To  our  left  rose  the  great  height  of  Soracte, 
not  snow-covered  as  Horace  saw  it,  but  bare 
and  brown  save  where  purple  shadows  lay. 
At  first  we  met  numbers  of  peasants  all  astride 
of  donkeys,  going  towards  Civita  Castellana, 
families  riding  together  and  eating  as  they 
went.  Later,  however,  no  one  passed  but  an 
occasional  lonely  rider  (who  in  his  long  cloak 
and  high-pointed  hat  looked  a  genuine  Fra 
Diavolo),  or  else  sportsmen  and  their  dogs. 
It  was  strange  that  though  we  saw  many  of 
the  latter,  we  never  once  heard  the  singing  or 
chirping  of  birds.  There  were  hillsides  and 
fields  full  of  large  black  cattle,  or  herds  of 
horses,  or  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats.  There 
were  shepherds,  too,  sleeping  in  the  shade  or 
by  the  roadside,  leaning  on  their  staffs  or  rul- 
ing their  flock  with  rod  and  rustic  word,  as  in 
the  days  when  Poliziano  sung.  And  if  there 
was  no  bird's  song  to  break  the  silence  of  the 
Campagna,  there  was  instead  a  loud  baaing  of 
sheep,  led  by  the  shrill  piercing  notes  of  the 
lambs.     If  it  was  to  such  an  accompaniment 


Two  Pilgrims    Progress.  169 

that  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  sang  in  rivalry,  their 
song  could  have  been  poetical  only  in  Virgil's 
verse. 

How  hard  we  worked  now  that  our  pilgrim- 
age was  almost  ended  !  We  scarcely  looked 
at  the  little  village  through  which  we  wheeled, 
and  where  a  White  Brother  was  going  from 
door  to  door,  nor  at  the  ruins  which  rose  here 
and  there  in  the  hollows  and  on  the  slopes  of 
the  hills ;  and  when  at  last  we  saw  on  the  hori- 
zon the  dome  coming  up  out  of  the  broad  un- 
dulating plain,  we  gave  it  but  a  short  greeting, 
and  then  hurried  on  faster  than  ever.  We 
would  not  even  go  to  Castel  Nuovo,  which  lies 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  from  the  road,  but  eat 
our  hasty  lunch  in  a  trattoria  by  the  wayside, 
while  a  man  —  an  engineer  he  said  he  was  — 
showed  us  drawings  he  had  made  on  his  trav- 
els, and  asked  about  our  ride.  How  brave  it 
was  of  the  Signora  to  work !  he  exclaimed,  and 
how  brave  of  the  Signore  to  sketch  from  his 
velocipede ! 

And  after  this  "  the  hills  their  heights  began 
to  lower,"  and  with  feet  up  we  went  like  the 
wind,  and  every  time  we  looked  at  the  dome  it 


170  Two  Pilgrims    Progress. 

seemed  larger  and  more  clearly  defined  against 
the  sky.  But  about  six  miles  from  Rome  our 
feet  were  on  the  pedals  again  and  we  were 
working  with  all  our  might.  Sand  and  loose 
stones  covered  the  road,  which  grew  worse 
until,  in  front  of  the  staring  pink  quarantine 
building,  the  stones  were  so  many  that  in 
steering  out  of  the  way  of  one  we  ran  over 
another,  and  the  jar  it  gave  us  loosened  the 
screw  of  the  luo^Qraore-carrier.  We  were  so  near 
Rome  we  let  it  go.  This  was  a  mistake.  But 
a  little  farther,  and  the  whole  thing  gave  way, 
and  bags  and  knapsack  rolled  in  the  dust.  It 
took  some  fifteen  minutes  to  set  it  to  rights 
again ;  and  all  the  time  we  stood  in  the  shade- 
less  road,  under  a  burning  sun,  for  the  heat  in 
the  lower  plains  of  the  Campagna  was  as  great 
as  if  it  were  still  summer.  As  the  luggage- 
carrier  was  slightly  broken,  we  were  afraid  to 
put  too  great  a  strain  upon  it,  and  for  the  rest 
of  the  journey  the  knapsack  went  like  a  small 
boy  swinging  on  behind. 

Like  those  other  pilgrims,  we  were  much 
discouraged  because  of  the  way.  But  at  last, 
wheeling  by  pink  and  white   trattorie^   whose 


From  Via  Flam.nia,  near  Ponte  Molle. 

Page  170. 


Two   Pilgrims    Progress.  171 

walls  were  covered  with  illustrated  bills  of  fare, 
and  coming  to  an  open  place  where  street-cars 
were  coming  and  going,  the  Ponte  Molle,  over 
a  now  yellow  Tiber,  lay  before  us,  and  we  were 
under  the  shadow  of  the  dome  we  from  afar 
had  watched  for  many  hours.  Over  the  bridge 
we  went  with  cars  and  carts,  between  houses 
and  gardens  and  wine-shops,  where  there  was 
a  discord  of  many  hurdy-gurdies,  to  the  Porta 
del  Popolo,  and  so  into  Rome. 

Carabinieri  were  lounging  about  the  gate, 
and  carriages  were  driving  to  the  Pincian  ;  but 
we  rode  on  and  up  the  street  on  the  right  of 
the  piazza.  When  we  had  gone  a  short  dis- 
tance we  asked  a  man  at  a  corner  our  way  to 
the  Piazza  di  Spagna.  We  should  have  taken 
the  street  to  our  left,  he  said,  but  now  we  could 
reach  it  by  crossing  the  Corso  diagonally.  As 
we  did  so  we  heard  a  loud  sst,  sst  behind  us, 
and  we  saw  2. gendarme  running  up  the  street; 
but  we  went  on.  When  we  wheeled  into  the 
Piazza  di  Spagna,  however,  a  second,  almost 
breathless,  ran  out  in  front  of  us,  and  cried, 
Aspetti  I  ("Wait!")  But  still  we  rode.  As- 
petti  I  he  cried  again,  and  half  drew  his  sword. 


172  Two   Pilgrims^   Progress, 

In  a  minute  we  were  surrounded.  Models 
came  flying  from  the  Spanish  steps ;  an  old 
countryman  carrying  a  fish  affectionately  under 
his  arm,  bootblacks,  clerks  from  the  near  shops, 
young  Roman  swells,  —  all  these  and  many 
more  gathered  about  us. 

"  Aspetti  !  "  the  gendarme  still  cried. 

"  P  ere  he  ?  "  we  asked. 

And  then  his  fellow-officer,  whom  we  had 
seen  on  the  Corso,  came  up.  "  Get  down ! " 
he  said,  in  fierce  tones  of  command. 

"  PercJie  ?  "  we  asked  again. 

"  Per  Christo  !  "  was  his  only  answer. 

The  crowd  laughed  with  glee.  Hackmen 
shouted  their  applause.  It  was  ignominious, 
perhaps,  but  the  wisest  policy,  to  get  down  and 
walk  to  our  hotel. 


THE   FINISH. 


"  It  pities  i7ie  much  for  this  poor 
fnan  :  it  will  certainly  go  ill  with 
him  at  the  last.^'' 


TT  THAT  pilgrim  of  old  times  thought  his 
^  ^  pilgrimage  really  over  until  he  gave 
either  out  of  his  plenty  or  nothing  in  alms? 
Two  months  later  we  too  gave  our  mite,  not  to 
the  church  or  to  the  poor,  but  to  the  Govern- 
ment ;  for  we  were  then  summoned  before  a 
police  magistrate  and  fined  ten  francs  for  ''fu- 
rious riding  on  the  Corso,  and  refusing  to 
descend  when  ordered." 

And  so  our  pilgrimage  ended. 


APPENDIX. 


VETTURINO   versus  TRICYCLE. 

By  JOSEPH   PENNELL. 

From  "  Outing" 

Who  has  not  journeyed  through  a  country  with  his 
favorite  author  long  before  he  makes  the  actual  trip 
himself  ?  and  who,  when  he  comes  to  see  with  his 
own  eyes  that  at  which  he  has  hitherto  looked 
through  some  one  else's,  does  not  find  himself  his 
best  guide?  Long  before  I  came  to  Italy  I  had 
travelled  along  its  highways  and  by-ways  with  many 
authors,  more  especially  with  Hawthorne  in  his 
'*  ItaHan  Note-Book,"  and  Mr.  Howells  in  his 
*'  Italian  Journeys  "  and  "  Venetian  Life."  When 
it  was  finally  my  good  fortune  to  make  the  journey 
myself,  I  was  at  first  lucky  enough  to  have  for  a  com- 
panion, not  his  books,  but  Mr.  Howells  himself;  and 
I  frankly  confess  I  found  him  far  more  delightful 
and  satisfactory  in  person  than  in  print.  A  year 
later  I  started  for  the  same  country,  this  time  en- 
cumbered with  a  wife  and  a  tricycle.  Mr.  Howells 
could  no  longer  be  my  cicerone:  in  the  first  place 
he  was  back  in  Boston,  —  I  might  add,  as  if  in  pa- 
renthesis, calling  me  **  lucky  dog"  for  being  able  to 
go  so  soon  again  over  the  well-known  ground ;   and, 


176 


Appendix. 


in  the  second  place,  because  the  route  I  now  in- 
tended to  take  is  not  described  in  his  books.  But  it 
is  in  Hawthorne's  "  Note-Book,"  a  volume  which,  as 
I  have  just  said,  I  had  frequently  studied.  But  of 
course  I  forgot  to  put  it  in  my  knapsack,  and  so  had 
not  a  chance  to  see  it  until  I  arrived  in  Rome.  When 
I  there  looked  into  it,  naturally  in  a  more  critical 
spirit  —  inspired  by  personal  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject—  than  I  ever  had  before,  the  first  thing  that 
struck  me  was  the  advantage  I  had  had  over  my  old 
master  in  travelling  by  tricycle  instead  of  by  diligence. 
From  the  little  village  of  Passignano  to  Rome  we 
had  followed  exactly  the  same  road,  and  though  we 
began  our  rides  at  its  opposite  ends,  I  could  still 
easily  compare  the  time  we  had  made,  and  the  com- 
fort and  convenience  and  pleasure  we  had  enjoyed 
by  the  way.  As  this  comparison  may  be  interesting 
to  many  who  intend  some  day  to  make  the  cycling 
tour  of  Italy,  I  will  here  briefly  indicate  Hawthorne's 
experience,  principally  as  to  time  and  roads,  and 
then  mine : — 


HAWTHORNE'S    JOURNEY 
TO   FLORENCE. 

FIRST   DAY  OF  TRIP. 

We  passed  through  the  Porta 
del  Popolo  at  about  8  o'clock,  and 
.  .  .  began  our  journey  along  the 
Flaminian  Way.  .  .  .  The  road 
was  not  particularly  picturesque. 
The  country  undulated,  but  scarce- 
ly rose  iitto  hills.  .  .  .  Finally  came 
to  the  village  of  Castel  Nuovo  di 
Porta  .  .  .  between  12  and  i.  .  .  . 
Afternoon,    Soracte    rose    before 


MY   NOTES. 

LAST   D.\Y  OF  TRIP. 

We  left  Civit^  Castellana  at  a 
quarter  of  eight.  Road  so  rough, 
had  to  walk  down-hill  and  up  again. 
(So  did  Hawthorne's  party.  ) 
Road  very  picturesque,  and,  be- 
fore long,  a  distant  glimpse  of  St. 
Peter's.  Began  to  see,  and  occa- 
sionally to  feel,  the  paving  of  the 
old  Flaminian  Way,which  is  abomi- 
nable. Made  of  flagstones  thrown 
roughly    together,    or    else    little 


Appendix. 


177 


us.  .  .  .  The  road  kept  trending 
towards  the  mountam,  following 
the  line  of  the  old  Flaminian  Way, 
which  we  could  see  at  frequent 
intervals  close  beside  the  modern 
track.  It  is  paved  with  large  flag- 
stones, laid  so  accurately  together 
that  it  is  still,  in  some  places,  as 
smooth  and  even  as  the  floor  of  a 
church,  and  everywhere  the  tufts 
of  grass  found  it  difficult  to  root 
themselves  into  the  interstices.  .  .  . 
Its  course  is  straighter  than  that 
of  the  road  of  to-day.  ...  I  for- 
get where  we  finally  lost  it.  .  •  . 
Passed  through  the  town  of  Rig- 
nano — road  still  grew  more  and 
more  picturesque.  .  .  .  Came  in 
sight  of  the  high,  flat  table-land, 
on  which  stands  Civita  Castellana. 
.  .  ,  After  passing  over  the  bridge, 
I  alighted  with  J.  and  R.  and 
made  the  ascent  on  foot.  ...  At 
the  top  our  vetturino  took  us  into 
the  carriage  again,  and  quickly 
brought  us  to  what  appears  to  be 
a  very  good  hotel.  .  .  .  After  a 
splendid  dinner  we  walked  out 
into  the  little  town,  etc. 


SECOND   DAY. 

Roused  at  4  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing ;  .  .  .  ready  to  start  between  5 
and  6.  .  .  .  Remember  nothing  par- 
ticularly till  we  came  to  Borghetto. 
.  .  .  After  leaving  Borghetto,  we 
crossed  the  broad  valley  of  the 
Tiber.  .  .  .  Otricoli  by  and  by 
appeared.  ...  As  the  road  kept 
ascending,  and  as  the  hills  grew 
to  be  movmtainous,  we  had  taken 
on  two  additional  horses,  making 
six  in  all,  with  a  man  and  boy  .  .  . 


blocks,  like  the  Roman  pavement. 
Coming  on  a  stretch  of  it,  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill,  and  hidden  with 
dust,  smashed  our  luggage-carrier, 
and  loosened  the  machine,  —  more 
than  the  whole  trip  had  done. 
Passed  Rignano,  —  usual  sensa- 
tion, —  good  cafe.  Under  Soracte 
all  morning.  Reached  Castel 
Nuovo  di  Porta  at  11.  (Distance 
to  this  village  from  Civita  Cas- 
tellana much  farther  than  from  it 
to  Rome,  yet  we  reached  it  one 
hour  sooner  than  Hawthorne  did, 
starting  out  from  Rome.)  Road 
got  worse  and  worse.  Finally 
nothing  but  ruts  and  stones. 
Hills  not  to  be  laughed  at  (though 
Hawthorne  thought  them  scarcely 
perceptible).  Arrived  at  the  Por- 
ta del  Popolo  about  half-past 
one.  (About  three  and  a  half 
hours'  better  time  than  Haw- 
thorne.) Distance,  thirty-five  Ital- 
ian miles. 


OUR   SECOND   DAY  FROM    ROME. 

(We  never  got  up  at  any  such 
unearthly  hours  as  Hawthorne 
indulged  in.)  Left  Terni  at  11 
o'clock,  having  been  obliged  to 
get  a  new  brake  made.  Terni, 
dead  level,  in  low  valley, —  straight, 
wide  road,  ten  miles  across  the 
valley,  —  surface  of  the  road  good. 
Just  outside  of  Narni  road  climbs 
up  a  steep  hill  into  the  town. 
(There  must  have  been  an  earth- 
quake since  Hawthorne's  time,  as 


178 


Appendix, 


to  keep  them  in  motion.  .  .  . 
Murray's  guide-book  is  exceed- 
ingly vague  and  unsatisfactory 
along  this  route.  .  .  .  Farther  on 
[we  saw]  the  gray  tower  of  Narni. 
...  A  long,  winding  street  passes 
yjrough  Narni,  broadening  at  one 
point  into  a  market-place ;  .  .  . 
came  out  from  it  on  the  other  side. 
.  .  -  The  road  went  winding  down 
into  the  peaceful  vale.  .  .  .  From 
Narni  to  Terni  I  remember  noth- 
ing that  need  be  recorded.  Terni, 
like  so  many  other  towns  in  the 
neighborhood,  stands  in  a  high 
and  commanding  position.  .  .  . 
We  reached  it  between  ii  and  12. 
...  It  is  worth  while  to  record, 
as  history  of  vetturino  commissary 
customs,  that  for  breakfast  we  had 
coffee,  eggs,  and  bread  and  butter; 
for  lunch,  an  omelette,  stewed  veal, 
figs  and  grapes,  and  two  decanters 
of  wine ;  for  dinner  an  excellent 
vermicelli  soup,  two  young  fowls 
fricasseed,  and  a  hind-quarter  of 
roast  lamb,  with  fritters,  oranges, 
and  figs,  and  two  more  decanters 
of  wine. 


THIRD   DAY. 

At  6  o'clock  this  morning  .  .  . 
we  drove  out  of  the  city  gate 
of  Terni.  .  .  .  Our  way  was  now 
through  the  vale  of  Terni.  .  .  . 
Soon  began  to  wind  among  steep 
and  lofty  hills.  .  .  .  Wretched 
villages.  ...  At  Strettura  we 
added   two   oxen   to   our   horses. 


Terni,  which  he  saw  in  a  high  and 
commanding  position,  now  stands 
in  the  lowest  part  of  the  valley, 
with  mountains  all  around.)  PVom 
Narni  up  nearly  all  the  way  to 
Otricoli,  with  the  exception  of 
here  and  there  such  a  steep  de- 
scent that  we  had  to  hold  the 
machine  back  with  all  our  might, 
riding  for  several  hours  was  al- 
most impossible.  (Wish  we  had 
had  six  horses,  a  man,  and  a  boy 
to  pull  us  on.)  From  Otricoli, 
down  and  all  across  the  valley, 
excellent  riding  to  Borghetto; 
then  big  hill  up,  out  on  to  the 
Campagna,  and  up  and  down  — 
good  road  —  all  the  way  to  Civitk 
Castellana,  which  we  reached  be- 
tween 6  and  7.  Terrible  sensa- 
tion!  !  !  (This  day  Hawthorne 
came  in  two  hours  ahead ;  but  he 
had  six  horses  and  the  hills  in  his 
favor.)  We  eat  every  day  coffee, 
bread  and  butter,  and  rolls  in  the 
morning;  for  lunch,  a  beefsteak, 
or  macaroni,  and  fruit,  no  ivine, 
but  fresh  lemons  and  water;  for 
dinner,  soup,  two  meats,  fruit,  and 
a  fiijsifl  of  wine.  Distance  about 
thirty-three  Italian  miles.  (We 
carried  Baedeker,  and  not  Murray, 
and  found  it  not  unsatisfactory.) 


THIRD    DAY. 

Left  Assisi  about  S.  Splen- 
did coast  down  into  the  valley. 
Beautiful  ride  over  the  undulating 
road,  past  Spello  to  Foligno,  not 
stopping  in  the  latter  place,  ex- 
cepting to  have  accidents  wished 
us  by  an  old  woman  we  almost  ran 
over.     Then  through  the  beautiful 


Appendix, 


1/9 


and  began  to  ascend  the  Monte 
Somma,  which  ...  is  nearly 
four  thousand  feet  high  where  we 
crossed  it.  When  we  came  to 
the  steepest  part  of  the  ascent, 
Gaetano  allowed  its  to  walk.  .  .  . 
We  arrived  at  Spoleto  before 
noon.  .  .  .  After  lunch  ...  we 
found  our  way  up  a  steep  and 
narrow  street  that  led  us  to  the 
city  gate.  .  .  .  Resumed  our  jour- 
ney, emerging  from  the  city  into 
the  classic  valley  of  the  Clitumnus. 
.  .  .  After  passing  Le  Vene,  we 
came  to  the  little  temple  .  .  . 
immortalized  by  Pliny.  ...  I  re- 
member nothing  else  of  the  valley 
of  Clitumnus,  except  that  the  beg- 
gars .  .  .  were  well-nigh  profane 
in  the  urgency  of  their  petitions. 
The  city  of  Terni  seems  com- 
pletely to  cover  a  high  peaked 
hill.  .  .  .  We  reached  Foligno  in 
good  season  yestej'day  aftei'itoon. 
[This  passage  really  belongs  to  his 
fourth  day  of  travel,  but  as  it 
shows  at  what  time  of  the  third 
day  he  reached  Foligno,  I  have 
included  it  with  the  third.] 


FOURTH   DAY. 

I  have  already  remarked  that  it 
is  still  possible  to  live  well  in 
Italy  at  no  great  expense,  and  that 
the  high  prices  charged  to  fores- 
tieri  are  artificial,  and  ought  to  be 
abated.  .  .  .  We  left  Foligno  be- 
times in  the  morning ;  .  •  .  soon 
passed  the  old  town  of  Spello. 
...  By  and  by  we  reached  Assisi. 
We  ate  our  dejeuner,  and  resumed 


valley  of  the  Clitumnus  —  grand 
road  —  lovely  day  and  wonderfully 
fair  country.  ( We  saw  no  beggars. ) 
Rode  by  the  little  temple  spoken 
of  by  Pliny.  Ate  some  bread  and 
cheese  at  Le  Vene.  Reached 
Spoleto  at  one  ;  lunched ;  then 
rode  up  the  steep  street,  through 
the  gate  at  the  other  end  of  the 
city,  and  then  began  a  tremendous 
climb  of  six  miles  over  Monte 
Somma,  most  of  which  we  had 
to  walk.  At  last  had  hard  work 
to  push.  Coming  finally  to  the 
top,  found  the  descent  on  the 
other  side  even  steeper.  Where 
it  was  a  little  less  steep,  we  got 
on  the  machine,  put  on  the  brake, 
which  came  off  in  my  hand.  Bad 
brake  was  the  one  defect  in  our 
tandem.  Had  to  walk  the  rest  of 
the  way.  In  Strettura,  men  set 
bull  on  us.  (Not  quite  so  pleas- 
ant as  Hawthorne's  experience.) 
Arrived  in  Terni  at  8  o'clock, 
having  walked  the  last  few  miles 
by  moonlight,  —  about  forty  miles 
all  together,  of  which  we  walked 
fully  the  last  fourteen.  (Made  in 
one  day  what  Hawthorne  did  in 
a  day  and  a  half.) 


FOURTH   DAY. 

(Expenses  of  this  trip  about  five 
francs  a  day  each.)  Rode  from 
Perugia  to  Assisi,  a  distance  of 
fourteen  miles,  in  about  two  hours. 
Splendid  coast  down  the  hill  out- 
side of  Perugia  (up  which  Haw- 
thorne walked).  Crossed  the 
Tiber.  Visited  Santa  Maria  degli 
Angeli.  Awful  stitch  in  my  side. 
Climbed  up  into  Assisi,  where  we 


i8o 


Appendix, 


our  journey.  .  .  .  We  soon  reached 
the  Church  of  St.  Mary  of  the 
Angels.  ...  By  and  by  came  to 
the  foot  of  the  high  hill  on  which 
stands  Perugia,  and  which  is  so 
long  and  steep  that  Gaetano  took 
a  yoke  of  oxen  to  aid  his  horses 
in  the  ascent.  We  all,  except  my 
wife,  walked  a  part  of  the  way  up. 
.  .  .  The  coach  lagged  far  behind 


FIFTH    DAY. 

Left  Perugia  about  3  o'clock 
to-day,  and  went  down  a  pretty 
steep  descent.  .  .  .  The  road  be- 
gan to  ascend  before  reaching  the 
village  of  Mugione  ;  .  .  .  between 
5  and  6  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
Lake  of  Thrasymene,  .  .  .  then 
reached  the  town  of  Passignano. 
(He  stayed  there  all  night.) 


SIXTH   DAY. 

We  started  at  6  o'clock  .  .  . 
[for  Arezzo].  We  saw  Cortona, 
like  so  many  other  cities  in  this 
region,  on  its  hill,  and  arrived 
about   noon  at  Arezzo. 


stayed  all  afternoon,  to  recover, 
and  to  see  the  church. 


FIFTH   DAY. 

I  covered  their  fifth  and  sixth 
days'  ride,  this  time  by  myself  on 
the  tricycle,  in  three  hours  and  a 
half  actual  riding  time,  and  was 
pulled  up  the  long  hill  into  Peru- 
gia, in  a  most  easy  and  delightful 
way,  behind  the  diligence. 


From  Arezzo,  Hawthorne  went  directly  to  Florence 
in  one  day,  over  a  road  which  Italian  cyclers  have  told 
me  is  excellent,  and  which  is  the  post-road  to  Rome. 
We  went  by  way  of  Montepulciano  and  Siena,  being 
between  two  and  three  weeks  on  the  way.  I  hope 
this  short  account  of  about  one  third  of  our  ride  will 
convince  other  people  that  cycling  is  far  quicker 
than   the    old    posting   system,    far    plcasanter   than 


Appendix,  i8i 

riding  in  a  stuffy  railway-carriage,  which  whirls  you 
through  tunnels,  and  far  the  best  way  in  which  to 
see  Italy,  —  a  country  which  abounds  in  magnificent 
roads,  and  which  should  be  thoroughly  explored  by 
all  cyclers  who  care  for  something  beside  record- 
making. 


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